A Bird Set Free
by OliviaDuxbury
Summary: Completed. The Hound escapes with Sansa into the wilderness during the Battle of the Blackwater. I am a hardcore SanSan fan. I wanted to play with them and help them play with each other. Sansa is a bit older, Hound is the same. Mature content awaits you.
1. Chapter 1

**Author Note:**

 **I do not own these characters or any aspect of this imaginary world. I am in the middle of the third book in ASOIAF, so I am therefore more familiar with the television show, thus why I am posting this here.**

 **Sansa is 16 during this work of fiction, as I feel more comfortable writing mature content with her being older. All other characters mentioned are as they are in the television show.**

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 _I'll keep you safe._ He had muttered those words to her as he ushered her out of her room and into the halls of the Red Keep. Orange and red colours splashed over the stone as they jogged down the corridors. Every so often a flash of green lit the space and made their skin look sickly. The shouts of the men fighting on the Blackwater could be heard all over the city, she imagined. The Hound winced at the cries of men burning and the sound of men diving into the water to escape the flames. He stopped at the end of one of the hallways and stared out over the water. The flames were as tall as the Red Keep walls, the smoke rising into the sky in thick columns. He stayed for a few heartbeats until Sansa tugged at his arm, the fear written across her features.

"Come on, girl," he muttered taking her arm and roughly pulling her along behind him. The few possessions she had managed to grab were shoved hastily into the bag over her shoulder, hitting her back with each stride.

When they exited the Red Keep and scurried across the grounds to the stable, Sansa looked over her shoulder. She wasn't sure what she was expecting, but her breath hitched in her throat at the sight of the walls surrounded by an aura of fire. It looked as though the sky was melting, the waves of heat rippling above the towers. The smoke was so thick that the stars were hidden. The air was thick and heavy and each breath she took in was like breathing in a hot cloud. The smoke entered her lungs and the feeling it left behind was that of soot coating her throat. She imagined the black smudges on the back of the hearth in her room at Winterfell. She would run her fingers through the soot and rub it over her hands, concealing her pale flesh. She had only been a child when she did such things. A child she no longer was.

"Stay back," he warned as he approached a beast the colour of black tar. Her heart hammered in her chest even harder as he pulled the creature by the reins and led it out of the stable. "He'll bite your hand off if you give him the chance," he growled.

Sansa stepped back even further. Her eyes widened as she stared into Stranger's eyes. They were black as coal, with the flames of the night dancing on his pupils. His glossy mane shimmered in the light of the burning men. The horse seemed less than afraid. He seemed shy and timid, but Sansa did not take the Hound's warning lightly. She kept her distance and watched as he tightened the saddle and closed the side bags. She was so busy watching Stranger stare at her that she didn't even notice when the Hound brought out a beautiful gray horse and stopped it behind Stranger.

Her gaze wandered to the much smaller horse. She was beautiful, at least her instincts told her it was a female. "Mine?" her voice felt very small and ragged from the smoke.

The Hound nodded and came around the horse. He picked Sansa up with ease and tossed her onto the saddle. His hands lingered on her waist as she took the reins into her shaking grip. _I must not falter. I need to get away. He'll keep me safe._ All fears subsided, the Hound took his hands away and looked into her eyes. Her hands were trembling but she nodded, attaching her bag to the saddle and holding the reins firmly. With a quick nod, he climbed onto Stranger's back and they rode. Sansa followed behind as best she could, but Stranger was swift. They headed towards one of the gates that had been locked against the battle. Sansa's sense of direction was off, but she felt like her heart was singing North. As they approached the gate it was made very clear that it was not deserted as would be expected. The Hound drew his longsword without hesitation and swung it through the air at the Lannister guard trembling in his armor. Sansa gasped and squeezed her eyes shut, hearing the grunt of the Hound taking the impact of his sword meeting flesh, and hearing the shout of the man, the gurgling of blood escaping his body and then the soft thud as they rode past the body slumping to the ground. Another guard was waiting at the gate, his eyes wide and the whites bright against the darkness.

"Open the gate or you'll have his fate," the Hound slowed his horse, Sansa followed suit, as he gestured back to the fallen guard.

The guard thought for a moment and seemed to hesitate. Stranger whinnied and shook his head, grunting in what sounded like frustration at being still. The guard jumped and opened the gate. "Apologies, ser." His voice stuttered.

Sansa watched as the Hound brought his sword back up and sliced the guard's head clean from his shoulders. Sansa let out a scream. "Hound!" she yelled without thinking.

He turned to her, the gates open before them. "Scream again, and I'll leave you for the wolves." Fear ran through her veins like ice. She knew he wasn't lying. "Dead rats don't squeak," he explained as he put his heels to Stranger and began racing towards the trees ahead of them.

Sansa held back for a moment, her head spinning. She watched Stranger disappear into the trees and began to panic. She kicked her horse and took off, leaving the broken guards and the gate open to anyone who dared to come near it.

Once in the trees under the cover of darkness, Sansa thought they would slow their pace. But alas, the Hound went faster and Sansa had no choice but to try her best to keep up. Her horse was quick, small but mighty. Stranger on the other hand was large and powerful. Combined they managed to keep pace with one another, Sansa only ever a few paces behind. As the night turned into dawn, Sansa once again thought that they would stop, or at least say something, but the morning changed to afternoon and then dusk. Her stomach growled, her body ached and her eyes threatened to close, but she dared not speak. The wolves were prowling in the woods, and despite her winter blood, they wouldn't hesitate to prowl on a young woman in the woods with no knowledge on how to survive. When the night sky grew large over them again, the stars twinkled and the air finally was free of smoke.

Sansa's eyes drooped. Her thighs were on fire. The sweat on her back made her thin dress cling to her. Her hair was plastered to her forehead and her hands trembled from clutching the reins so tightly. Every few moments she would feel wide awake and watch Stranger's legs racing in front of her mare. Then after a moment the tiredness would consume her. Before she knew what happened, darkness took her and the feeling of falling consumed her. She was flying through the air, but was too tired to care. She was already somewhere far away. A dream was already playing behind her eyelids before she hit the ground.

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 **I prefer a slow burn. I have more written. I only await your thoughts and desire for more. Reviews are delicious.**


	2. Chapter 2

**Author Note:**

 **Thank you very much for the positive responses. And so it continues...**

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"Little bird," she heard a murmur. Something out of focus was speaking. Her eyelids fluttered but gave up and stayed shut. "Come on, little bird." Again the voice was close, but somewhere far away.

"Mmmmm?" her voice was nowhere to be found.

"That's it," he spoke almost softly, "come back now."

 _From where?_ She wondered. "Mmm…Hound…" her voice drifted off as her eyelids opened. It was getting dark, the last red streak of a sunset sweeping across the sky above her like a red stroke from a paintbrush.

Her eyes then focused on a face hovering over her. "Good," he muttered before getting up and walking out of her field of vision.

Sansa slowly rubbed her eyes and began to sit up. Her back felt like a slab of wood, stiff and resistant to any movement. Her head felt like one giant heartbeat as she sat. She winced against the pain and pressed a hand to her temple. Once the pain began to dull, she opened her eyes again and took in her surroundings. A stream lay at her feet. The water was crystal clear and running swiftly. Trees taller than giants stood around her, their leaves beginning to turn. _Winter is coming_. She thought about the words of her house, the words her Father told her time and time again. A slight breeze raced through the trees and chilled the back of her neck and lifted her red hair from her shoulders. To her left were the horses, loosely tied to a branch with ample room to roam, drink and wander to the patches of grass beneath the tree. Stranger didn't seem to mind the company of the gray horse.

Sansa looked to her right and saw the Hound. He was drinking from his hands, the water of the creek running through his fingers before he raised his makeshift bowl to his mouth and drank greedily. "How long…" Sansa tried to speak but it came out as more of a croak.

The Hound took another scoop of water in his hands and splashed it over his scarred face. He rubbed the dirt and grime away and stood, shaking his head, sending water droplets through the air. _Like a dog_ , Sansa thought. "Long enough," he said while peeling off his armor. She watched him with wide eyes. The armor fell to the ground with a heavy thud. He rolled his shoulders and lifted his arms above his head. The bottom of his tunic lifted above the waist of his breeches and exposed a stomach of strength and a trail of dark hair. "See something you like, girl?" he sneered as he stripped off his boots.

Sansa shook her head and blushed an embarrassing shade of red. "Apologies, s-

"Don't you dare," he said with an edge to his voice that cut through her embarrassment. She turned back to face him as he walked over to her. Fury was written in his eyes. "Look at me, girl." He kneeled next to her and grabbed her chin. "You aren't in a castle anymore. You're a traitor now, same as me. There's no place for your pretty songs here."

She bit her lip. He was right, she knew that much. He was not a ser, he was not an average man; he was the Hound. He was Sandor Clegane, brother of the Mountain. She tried to form a sentence, but ended up continuing to bite down on her full bottom lip. She watched as his eyes looked down at her mouth and almost soften. There was something off about the look he was giving her. He looked lost. He watched her mouth for a moment more before looking back at her eyes. He growled in his throat, something primal. He let go of her chin and stood up, stalking away from her.

"Get your fill, little bird." He said as he walked to where his pile of armor rested. "Have to wash the day off." He said no more as he stripped his shirt. He paused and watched her watching him.

Sansa looked away quickly. Not before her heart began to hammer and fingers tingled. The Hound had always stirred something in her. He was harsh, brutal, and fearless. Yet he never lied to her. Men lied, but the Hound told her the truth. He watched her grow. He observed her maturity into a young woman. His eyes never strayed from her when they were in a room together. When Joffrey used her, when Cersei mocked her, when the guards beat her, when fools lied to her, he was always the voice of reason. _Best do what he says, girl._ Her cheeks were on fire as she thought back to all the times in King's Landing that she had caught him watching her. Her neck burned crimson as she remembered all of the times _she_ had been caught watching _him_. Whenever she was called to see Joffrey, her heart was always lightened by the notion of seeing him among the crowd. It was an unspoken secret they shared. Both of them knew they would search for one another, but neither dared speak it out loud.

In one of her braver moments, he escorted her back to her room in the Red Keep, her cage he called it, and she felt fierce. At her door, with no one to witness, he backed her into her room and closed the door behind him.

He raised an eyebrow at her as she looked panicked. "I'm used to that look," he had muttered. "I'm even used to stares."

Sansa had gulped. She had known where the interrogation was going. He had noticed her watching him. He had felt her presence, her eyes lingering on his face, his body, and his hands. "I'm not sure what you mean," she had retorted, backing up until her knees hit the side of her bed.

He had reached out and run his hand through a lock of her hair. "Little bird," he had begun, gently, "stop your stares before the bastard notices." She had looked up and met his eyes at that moment. She was not surprised to hear him call Joffrey a bastard. She _was_ surprised that he had not used his classic term, cunt.

She had felt brave in that moment. "I don't care if he sees."

He had laughed at her. His laugh was a mock though. It stung more than she cared to admit. "You will one day," he said. "You will when I'm not there when he hurts you."

The realization had hit her. "You're the only one here who would never hurt me." She wanted to sit on the bed, let herself go limp. The close proximity to him had made her body feel like pudding. Her brave demeanor was melting away.

He nodded and leaned in close. She could smell the wine on his breath. He always seemed to be drinking wine. She had noticed he seemed to drink more when he was around her. "Aye," he began, "I'll never hurt you, little bird. Even though I want to sometimes. In different ways than Joffrey." He had looked her up and down, his mouth an inch from hers.

Sansa had felt a burn in her belly the moment the words left his lips. Her breath had stopped, her eyes had widened. She began to close her lids, let her eyelashes begin to kiss her cheeks before he had grunted and turned towards the door. He didn't even look back. The door slammed shut and he was gone. The only thing that did not disappear was the sensation in her body for hours afterwards.

Sansa turned her head back to the water and watched as he pulled his breeches down. He was naked. She turned away again and tried to stand. Her legs trembled, barely able to hold her up, but she was determined to walk away. Her entire body felt aflame. Her fingers had their own heartbeats as they tingled and surged with energy. She took a small glance back as he winced while walking into the chilled water. He was waist deep in the creek before she walked to the horses. Stranger eyed her curiously while Windstorm, the name she decided to give to the gray mare, nuzzled her hand and welcomed the attention. She kept her hands busy with rubbing the ears of the creature and running her hands along its silky neck.

She heard the splash of the water and her body tensed. She took a breath and turned. There was a small fire set up over where his armor was. Further than that were their sleeping blankets, rolled out in a cave in the side of the rocks by the water. It looked small. She watched as the Hound dunked his head under the water, rubbing his hands against his head with his eyes shut. She took the opportunity and walked swiftly past him bathing and into the small cave. She could still see him, but here she had the opportunity to lay down and stare at the cave wall. This was easier on her.

After she got over her the immediate discomfort of him returning to the cave with just his breeches on, she turned and looked up at him. Silver scars ran over his chest and water droplets glimmered all over him. His hair was wet against his forehead. "Hungry?" he asked almost gently.

Sansa nodded. She had been trying to gain some courage since waking from the fall off of her horse. It kept escaping her like sand between her fingers. "Yes," she answered. The sun was nearly gone, but that did not stop the Hound from wandering into the forest to trap a meal, leaving Sansa with the horses and the open water.

Before he left to hunt, he had come back to the cave, armor on and longsword at his side. "Don't do anything stupid," he said.

Sansa nodded. "I won't," she said quietly, watching him give a curt nod and turn to go into the trees.

When she was certain he was gone, she looked longingly at the water. Her hair was matted, her body sticky from sweat, and her hands covered with grime. Her fingernails looked ghastly. She wondered how Arya could so easily accept being filthy, then her heart sank. _Arya. She's alive somewhere, I know it. A wolf knows when a pack member is gone_. After waiting longer than necessary and pushing aside thoughts of her family, Sansa gathered her dress and lifted it over her head, letting it fall into a small heap by the pile of sticks that would soon be a roaring fire. She sucked in a breath and began to walk into the water. It froze her toes the second they touched the liquid, but she bit her lip and continued until she was half into the stream. She couldn't feel her legs, and her stomach cringed as the water lapped against her exposed belly. Her breasts perked and her nipples hardened against the cold. Determined to be clean, Sansa took the plunge beneath the water. _I am a child of Winterfell. I am the North. I am a wolf._ Yet, despite being all of those things, the cold shocked her system. She opened her mouth beneath the surface and it felt like icicles flew down her throat and constricted her lungs. When she rose to the surface, her hair clung to her back, the red dark with water looked like a luxurious crimson velvet. Before she could flee from the water she scrubbed her body with her hands. Everywhere she could reached she scrubbed. Her legs, her hair, her face. She scrubbed until she felt almost raw. She let herself fall beneath the water again and work her numb fingers through her hair until it ran smooth, no longer tangled.

When she emerged from the water, the air felt hot compared to the chill of the lake. Her teeth chattered as she sprinted to Windstorm and opened the saddle bag where she had stuffed a few belongings. Among them was a cloak from Winterfell. It was made of rough gray wool, with a direwolf sigil embroidered across the back with black leather. She wrapped it around herself, absorbing the water droplets from her skin. She hung it from a branch once her hair was mostly dry and her body crawled with gooseflesh as she quickly threw on a simple dress from the saddle bag. It was dove gray with lavender embroidery. She smoothed it over her skin, forgetting any small clothes and not particularly caring.

She took it upon herself to soak the filthy dress in the lake. She wrung it out and watched the brown droplets fall into the lake, carried downstream. King's Landing was being washed away from her and it lifted her spirits. Once she had draped the fabric over a branch on the tree the horses were tethered to, she returned to the shelter of the cave. The moon had risen and kissed the surface of the lake. A chill was creeping into the air. Once she sat on the blankets, she tucked her legs beneath her chin and watched the horses drink, eat and look at one another. She stared out to the gap in the treeline where the Hound had vanished, willing him to return. _What will I do if he doesn't come back?_ She asked herself. The notion terrified her. _He's the Hound, he'll come back. He said he would keep me safe._ She reassured herself the best she could as she waited in the small cave. Another thought tickled her mind. _Of course he'll come back. I see how he watches me._ She smiled softly. _It's the same way I watch him._

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 **Thoughts? Reviews are divine.**


	3. Chapter 3

**Author Note:**

 **And so we march forth into the realm of mature content. Enjoy.**

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A small fire cooked the hares the Hound had trapped in the forest. Sansa had waited patiently after bathing until dark settled over their small camp. She thought about getting a fire started while she waited, but thought better of it. And besides, she had no knowledge of _how_ to start a fire. Instead she had stayed in the cave, her knees tucked under her chin, watching the moon rise and shimmer across the water. When he had returned, she watched as he started a fire and began skinning the rabbits. Her heart twisted and her stomach threatened to turn as he ripped the skin from the pink bodies, but she kept her nose wrinkled and her eyes staring at his steady hands. Now the smell wafted through their small camp and made Sansa's mouth water. She hadn't eaten since before the battle. She had been too uneasy and they had been riding too long to stop. And of course there was the day or so she had been unconscious, in a dream somewhere far away.

"That's good enough," he muttered as he handed a spit with a hare on it to Sansa. She flinched, but then accepted. She was unsure of what to do with it. She had never had to eat in the wilderness before. The meat was a bit charred, but there was noticeable grease dripping onto the ground. Despite having been disturbed watching the Hound prepare the rabbits, Sansa couldn't help but lick her lips in anticipation of food. And _hot_ food at that.

The Hound took his hare off of the fire and then threw dirt over the flames until they died away. "It's cold," Sansa said suddenly, watching the small wisps of smoke vanish into the air from the dead fire. Without the fire to warm her, the air had a definite chill in it. The first hints of winter. "Why did you do that?" her voice felt small and her regret for asking the question was immediate as the Hound took a bite of hare and looked at her with an eyebrow raised.

He didn't look terribly mad, but she could tell he was thinking of calling her stupid. "A fire was risky," he started while grease dripped down his chin, "so why keep it any longer than we need it?" she shivered and held her arms close as she took a tentative bite of meat. It melted in her mouth. "I'll keep you warm, girl," he said roughly, not looking at her while he spoke. His concentration was entirely on the meat he was devouring. Sansa paused and watched him, unsure if she had heard him right. When he didn't make any hint of elaborating, Sansa returned to the meat, greedily eating it, her stomach thanking her for every chew and swallow.

After the Hound had finished eating he went and washed the grease from his face with the cool water. Then Stranger was checked and he went to the cave, laying his armor beside the entrance. His sword glimmered in the moonlight as he brought it into the cave, next to his side of the blankets. Sansa followed his lead. Washed the mess from her face with the chilly water, then went a brushed Windstorm, whispering soft words while the horse nuzzled into her neck. When she followed the Hound into the cave her heart started to hammer in her chest. He was laying down, his arm holding up his large cloak, inviting her to climb underneath with him. Suddenly her dress felt very tight on her chest. She hesitated long enough for him to grunt and drop the cloak, leaving her to have to let herself underneath for warmth, if she so desired.

"Aren't you going to keep watch?" she asked in a small voice as she dropped onto her knees on the blankets.

He snorted. "Keep watch?"

"Well, yes. What if Lannister men come for us in the night?"

"You think I won't hear the armor of Lannister men?"

She stopped and thought. "I suppose you would…"

"Aye," he said, "I would. Stranger will stir if someone comes near. He'll even attack if they get too close. I can't stay awake forever, girl."

Sansa nodded. "Alright," she said. "Apologies, s-

He sat up and looked straight into her eyes causing her to stop mid-word. "What did I tell you about that?"

Her lip trembled. "This is no place for fancy words," she said quietly, staring straight back into his eyes.

He leaned in close to her. "Aye, little bird." He opened the cloak again and Sansa bit her lip while crawling underneath. The shelter of the cave made it difficult to see. Everything was fuzzy and black. But she could still see the outline of him, the whites of his eyes, his hair still damp around his face.

She hadn't realized how cold she was until the cloak surrounded her on the hard cave floor. His body was hot, she realized. Heat was radiating from his form. She suddenly felt wide awake. The sweet smell of sweat and man filled her nose. Uncomfortably, Sansa shifted so her back was facing the Hound. Somehow this felt more tolerable than facing him. Her heart threatened to beat out of her chest. She had never been this close to him, in such an intimate setting. He had interrogated her momentarily in her chambers at King's Landing, but never after the sun had set. Never had he intruded her private space in an environment that was solely theirs. There were no witnesses, except the horses.

He grunted and shifted beneath the cloak, then he was completely still. Sansa didn't realize that she had been holding her breath. A long breath escaped her lips and her body began to relax. _He's going to sleep. You wouldn't mind if he didn't, but he's the Hound._ Her mind began to race. Her body had always betrayed the truth of the Hound. His hands on her body, his burned flesh beneath her fingertips, his lips closing in on hers, his body overlapping with hers. These thoughts never drifted far from the front of her mind. As improper as they were, they were there. As real as the day and the night, as sure as the blood that ran through her veins, and often raced at thoughts of him, she thought of him. She should feel ashamed. She should feel sickened. Yet, despite it all, she didn't care. She had meant what she said when she told him about not caring if Joffrey saw. Maybe she had been foolish to utter such a thing, but in all her time at King's Landing, only one thing, one person, had remained the same. The Hound, as vicious as he was, had never betrayed her trust. He terrified her at times, but she knew what he was. He was a fearful man. The fire terrified him as much as his harshness scared her. They were the same, really. The only difference was that he feared nothing but fire, and she feared everything. The balance was impossible to not notice. He was the sense of reality she required. He was the bravery she desperately needed. And she was the softness, the innocence that reminded him of life before being burned. She was the bird. He was the Hound.

Sansa fell asleep despite the thoughts that bounced around her mind for what felt like hours. And when she did wake again, the sun had not risen. It felt like only a few moments later, but it must have been late. The moon had lightened where the horses lay, resting. They looked peaceful, even Stranger. She shifted until she felt a form pressed into her back. She immediately stiffened at the feeling of a hand gripping her waist. It was an automatic response to bite her lip and hold her breath. The hand reached down her thigh, pulling her dress up, higher and higher until her entire leg was exposed. She had been holding her breath for so long that her body threatened to plunge her into darkness. A shaky breath escaped her lips as his large hand ran from her hip to rest over her taut stomach. With a trembling hand, she moved her hand to rest overtop of his. She felt the reaction behind her. His body stiffened. He obviously thought she had been sleeping. When he went to pull his hand away she held it, lacing her fingers through his.

A wave of bravery passed over her. "Remember what I said in King's Landing?" her voice shook.

For a few moments she thought he would never answer, until he pressed into her, his body completely flush to hers. She felt him stiff behind her, his manhood pressing into the back of her thigh. "Aye," he murmured into her ear, his breath sending a chill down her spine. "I remember you said a lot of things, girl. A lot of it pretty words."

The jab was not unexpected, but she still felt the sting. His hand began to roam up, towards her ribs. "I said I didn't care if Joffrey saw me watching you," her breath hitched as his hand, surprisingly gently, trailed over her ribcage and grazed under her breast, "or you watching me." She finished letting out a sigh. A surge of heat began in her abdomen.

His hand stopped beneath her breast. "Don't say that cunt's name," he growled in her ear.

She shuddered at his foul mouth. She almost apologized, then thought better of it. _You aren't in a castle anymore_. She didn't know what to say next. Her mind started to blur as his hand found its way up to take her whole breast in his grip. She bit her lip until she tasted blood as his thumb rubbed her nipple. The bud was hard beneath his thumb as he circled slowly, causing the heat she felt to travel like wildfire through her limbs. When her hips moved involuntarily to lean into his touch he growled in his throat, gripping her breast almost painfully. She began to ache as his hand ventured away from her breast, no longer under her clothing at all. Without warning it was suddenly at her throat, his fingers wrapped around her pale flesh. She stiffened and felt him hard against her. She felt like she was suffering from a fever as his grip began to tighten.

"Tell me I'm hurting you," he muttered as his grip began to tighten. She began to feel her breathing become more difficult. Her throat was tight, his hand firm around her neck, yet she didn't speak, just shifted beneath him, her body rubbing into his. "Tell me to stop," he sounded almost desperate, his voice primal and filled with need.

Sansa opened her mouth to speak, but a small moan escaped at the feeling of her body shifting until his manhood was between her legs, pressing the fabric of her dress to her core. "Why…" she choked out as his grip began to loosen.

His mouth hovered over her neck. She felt not his lips, but his _teeth_ against her skin. He bit her, and not lightly. She hissed as she felt him clamp down on the skin where her neck and shoulder joined. It felt like what she imagined being bit by a dog would feel like. _How appropriate that it's the Hound_. "I shouldn't be touching you, girl," he said after his teeth left her skin. She was certain there was a mark. _His mark_. "A dog shouldn't touch a bird."

With courage she didn't know she possessed, Sansa responded, "We're not in a castle anymore. A dog can touch a bird if desired. And I desire it."

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 **Is it cruel to end it there? I assure you authors love to hear from their readers. Reviews are inspiring.**


	4. Chapter 4

**Author Note:**

 **And now we travel into the city of bitterness. I find these characters challenging, and simply can't bring myself to rush their intimacy. For the sake of being "realistic" we need to remember that the Hound is significantly older and finds Sansa desirable at the same time as untouchable for someone as seemingly unworthy as him - it could even be argued that he doesn't believe her feelings towards him. And therefore, Sansa gets to be left in the dark to the Hound's inner turmoil. Thoughts on my thoughts? I love to hear your opinions.**

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He recoiled from her as if she was suddenly ablaze. Sansa felt her heart drop and sit in her stomach like a stone. She stayed still as she heard him move away from her, shift beneath the cloak, then nothing. Silence. Her heartbeat was like a drum in her ears. If she had of been younger and more naïve, she would have been certain he could hear the sound of the blood coursing through her veins. Her core ached and her face felt flush. She shifted, missing his body behind her. Suddenly she felt very alone. Any bravery she had mustered during those few intimate moments of his skin on hers melted away like candle wax. She was the fire and her willpower was the wax dripping and hardening on the mantle of a great hearth.

Despite feeling empty and defeated, she sat up letting the cloak fall from her shoulders into her lap. He was on his back, his eyes closed. The longsword he brought was next to him, half his height, and his sword hand was resting on the hilt. For a moment she thought maybe she had dreamed the intimacy. She ran her fingers up her collarbone to the skin where her shoulder and neck meet. Sure enough, several indents were pressed into her tender skin. It didn't appear that the skin had been broken, but it felt close. It felt like a giant bruise. When she moved her head to the side the skin felt uncomfortably tight around the bite mark. She put a hand to her breast and noticed that it felt sore too, all due to the painful grip of his hand. Those hands, especially the one resting on his sword, were powerful and unrelenting. Her hands then moved to circle her neck. It was hot and a dull ache rose to the surface of her skin as she put light pressure around her neck. She felt branded. And yet, nothing had happened. He had been insistent and forceful, and then when she spoke up, he retreated as if wounded or disgusted. She had expressed genuine desire. She had only ever imagined his hands on her before. But in those fleeting moments it was actually happening. She felt it necessary to remind him of their looks in King's Landing and to reassure him that even though she escaped the grasp of the Lannister's, she wasn't wounded beyond repair. Desire still stirred in her. And just because the scenery had changed, didn't mean the longing had. But apparently, she had done something wrong.

After several moments of silence, she was convinced he was only pretending to sleep. Her hands shook as she made the decision to reach out to him. _He has to explain._ And yet, even though she had decided on reaching out to him, waking him, pestering him and even begging him if it came to that, she faltered. Her hands shook like leaves ready to fall in autumn. She paused, watching his chest rise and fall. Her hands still spread and poised in front of her, ready to fall on his chest and rouse him. But before she could recoil, much like he did, or continue to go through with her plan, his eyes shot open and stared straight into hers.

"Go to sleep, little bird," he said quietly. There was no anger in his eyes, despite how much the words stung.

Even though it wasn't a mean thing to say, Sansa felt her lower lip tremble. She took a deep breath through her nose and watched him watching her. _Always watching_. "I don't understand…" her voice trembled, revealing her hurt feelings. She suddenly felt childish.

The Hound did not change his expression. It remained straight, flat, and unconcerned. "I said I would take you home," he said. "That's all I'm going to do." The last sentence felt final.

Sansa went to open her mouth but he closed his eyes before she could say anything. That was that. His last words still rang in the air. Feeling defeated, she laid back down and shifted so far away from him that she began to feel cold as the cloak slipped from her shoulders. But she didn't care. It was better to feel cold than to be near him. She knew her anger was childish, she knew it made her look weak. Even with that knowledge, she still felt hurt and therefore, angry. It felt unfair to touch her, to let his hands brush over her skin, squeeze her, and stir up feelings she had pushed down for years in King's Landing. It felt cruel to bring those feelings to the surface, then dismiss them. It felt even worse that she didn't understand why. _Am I ugly? Am I too childish? Am I too frightened?_ Her mind began spinning in circles. Maybe she had misread all of the looks. Maybe the stares between the two of them had been nothing more than stares. She remembered the afternoon in King's Landing when he had shoved her into her cage, nearly made her fall onto the bed, and confessed he wanted to hurt her in different ways than Joffrey. Had that been a miscommunication? In her brave moments maybe she was only being foolish.

Sansa woke the following morning by herself in the cave. The cloak was wrapped around her like a cocoon. She had clearly been restless, and it did not surprise her why. She had gone to sleep flushed, her body aching and sore. Her dreams had been vivid that night. The woods beckoning her, wolves howling her name, and her body feeling feverish, on the edge of a great precipice, with no ability to leap off to where she knew she needed to be. When her eyes had opened to the sun shining on the horizon and the lake shimmering in the morning light, her disappointment had creeped in, still raw. She lifted her head and felt an ache on her shoulder that spread around her entire neck. She coughed, her throat feeling dry. She could not spot the Hound, and she didn't particularly care. _I can't survive out here without him. I won't make it home without him._ Sansa had to keep reminding herself of his promise, and of his value. She reminded herself when her thoughts turned sour.

She emerged from the cave and went to the water. She drank greedily and splashed her face with little concern for the cold. Finally her face felt normal, no longer flushed with desire. She spread her wet hands over her throbbing neck and the tender bite mark on her shoulder. After several minutes of letting the cold water seep into her aching body, she opened her eyes and willed herself to look at her reflection. The surface rippled as the water moved steadily, but she still could see herself rather clearly. Her hair was the least of her worries since she washed it the evening before. It fell in loose red waves down her back. Her eyes looked puffy, her neck had purple bruises blossomed over it. The resemblance to the Hound's hand was striking. And the bite mark was dark and hard not to notice. If she tugged her dress up over her shoulder just right, it was concealed, but not for long. Her dress refused to stay so close to her neck. _He marked me and then didn't want me._ Tears threatened to spill from her eyes, but a rustling by the horses brought her back to reality.

"Eat quickly," the Hound said as she stepped out from the forest beyond the horses. He had berries wrapped in a cloth and an apple in his hand. He walked over to Sansa as she stood. He stopped when he looked up at her. His eyes widened. He looked at her neck and noticeably swallowed. "We leave as soon as you're done." He shoved the berries and apple into her hands and walked towards the cave.

Sansa did as she was instructed and ate quickly, without a word. The berries were tart and the apple surprisingly sweet. She filled her waterskin with cool water from the creek and attached it to her saddle. Windstorm was ready to go and so was she. She watched as the Hound approached the horses with their sleeping blankets rolled up and tightened with string beneath his arms. He tied them to Stranger's saddle and mounted the horse with ease. Sansa was a bit surprised that he didn't come over to help her, so while he adjusted Stranger's reins she quickly folded the dress she had hung to dry and shoved it into the pack. When she began to fold the cloak, she looked up and saw the Hound staring at her.

"Put that on," he started, "and keep the hood up." Sansa obeyed watching his eyes quickly avert away from hers. _He looks upset_.

Sansa looked up at Windstorm's saddle with a wary eye. "What's the matter, little bird?"

Sansa put her foot in the stirrup and clumsily climbed onto the saddle, avoiding answering the Hound until she was settled. "Nothing," she answered. "Aren't we going?"

He grunted in response and Stranger took off. Sansa followed on Windstorm the best she could, always a few paces behind as before. Instead of focusing on her disappointment and bitterness, Sansa focused on the scenery as they rode. Trees towered over them, the leaves turning into the crisp colours of autumn. The ground was muddy in places and dry and cracked in others. And the sound of water was never far away. They didn't take the road, for fear of encountering Lannister men, or any men, so they stuck to the uneven terrain of the forest floor. When it wasn't a ground filled with twisted roots, logs, and large rocks, it was open fields that tickled the bellies of the horses and brushed against Sansa's legs. The sun beat down on them in the open, making her feel hot and sweaty. The horses were breathing hard by the time dusk came, but the Hound seemed determined to keep riding. He never looked back. Sansa was certain he hadn't even gazed back at her. _He doesn't even want to look at me._ She swallowed the hurt and continued on, silent as ever. Dusk turned into night and the stars began to twinkle above them. Sansa gazed up while Windstorm slowed to a trot, following suit of Stranger. The Hound spun Stranger around while she was busy looking at the clusters of stars, causing Windstorm to whinny and stop abruptly, almost knocking Sansa from the saddle once again.

"The horses need to rest, little bird." He spoke as if nothing had ever happened, but he kept his gaze anywhere but on her. He dismounted with ease and led Stranger through a break in the trees, not looking back. He simply expected Sansa to follow.

Sansa nodded and went to try and dismount but immediately realized she would only fall. Her legs shook as she tried to swing off the saddle. Her body felt limp and weak from the waist down. Her hands clutched the reins tightly, looking ghostly in the moonlight that leaked through the trees. She could hear running water. Without any way down other than biting her lip and asking for help, she urged Windstorm to trot between the trees towards the trickling water, where Stranger stood lapping at the edge of a creek. The Hound patted Stranger and looked back with a disapproving glare.

"I can't get off," she muttered. He looked uncomfortable, which Sansa thought impossible. _He only fears fire, so why is he acting afraid of me?_

He walked over to Windstorm. "You can't get off," he mocked.

Sansa nodded, letting the hood of her cloak fall to her shoulders for the first time since they had begun riding again. He looked away suddenly. Anger surged through her. She felt like screaming, _Look at me! Don't mark me then not even look!_ She swallowed the words, and tried to catch his eyes that continued to wander. A few heartbeats later he offered his hand. "It's not a hand I need," Sansa said bitterly.

His head snapped up and he finally looked into her eyes. The sudden eye contact startled her, taking the air from her lungs. "What you need is to get off that bloody horse yourself," he replied acidly.

Sansa did not say anything in return, simply stared at him. After a moment's pause he quickly grabbed her waist, almost too lightly and gently, and set her on the ground. The instant her feet and wobbly legs made contact with the ground, he let her go and began leading her horse to the water. "I'm not made of glass," Sansa said. His grip had been so light that she was certain she was falling, not being lifted in the air by strong arms.

"Aye," he started, "maybe not glass. But you are a delicate little bird." He kept his gaze on the water and the land on the other side. Anger stirred in her once more. Everything he said made her furious. He refused to look at her, barely acknowledged her, and continued to mock her. She wondered if maybe there was another reason he had pulled away from her. _Am I too delicate, too fragile? Did I wince or cry out?_ She couldn't remember doing either of those things. And her time with the Lannisters seemed proof enough that she was strong. Yet he had pulled away.

Sansa kept her mouth shut while he handed her their sleeping blankets to set out for the night. "Over there, under the tree." He pointed to a tall oak tree that towered over the rest of the forest.

The tree was surrounded by lush grass, damp from the dew beginning to form. It provided significant shelter and was large enough around the trunk to keep them hidden from anyone passing by. Despite these useful characteristics, Sansa put her sleeping blankets on the lush grass and the Hound's closer to the water's edge, several paces away. She threw the blankets down with a thud and didn't even bother to unroll them. Dust flew up from the gravel near the river. She smiled, pleased with her small spiteful act. She was certain he would tell her off or say nothing at all and move his blankets back to shelter, but it felt good in the moment to rebel.

When the horses were tethered a distance away and Sansa was laying on her blankets beneath her cloak, the Hound walked over and grunted. "You won't want me far away if men come for you in the night." The Hound tossed his blankets next to hers causing her to jump. "No apologies?" he laughed at the mock while holding out his hand with salted beef in it. It was an offering, but Sansa did not want to accept. Her stomach growled in protest, so she sat up and snatched some from his palm.

"I don't have any apologies for you," she said quietly, waiting for the retort. He said nothing but drank from his wineskin and chewed noisily on the meat.

Sansa finished quickly and huddled under her cloak, turning away from him, staring at the horses. He shifted on the blankets, removed his armor and sword, resting them against the trunk of the tree. She heard him unfasten his cloak and drape it overtop of himself. Then silence. It seemed to Sansa that the silence between the two of them was thick. It felt like she could reach out into the open air and touch the tension with her fingers.

"Where are we going?" Sansa asked the open air. She already knew the answer. Courage was building from the tips of her fingers and working its way up to another question that rested on the tip of her tongue.

"I told you I'd take you home, girl." He sounded tired.

Sansa bit her lip. "Why did you stop?" it came out of her mouth before she could stop it. The words spewed forth and tumbled through the air.

Silence hung over them for several minutes. Sansa began to feel angry again. She was starting to feel hurt and disappointed. If he never answered she would have to live with it because he was her only way home. Not only that, but each time her courage rose to the surface, it deflated within a moment. This was the only chance she felt she had to ask him. "Because I didn't want to." The answer came quietly, almost a whisper.

"I…I don't understand." Sansa stammered, her heart starting to hammer. _I didn't want to._

"Aye," he grunted, "I know."

She sat up, her bravery turning into anger, rushing to the surface. "How dare you touch me and mark me then not even look at me!" she heard her voice get louder and louder and his eyes widen with every octave she reached.

He stayed laying down, looking up at her. Her red hair flowed over her shoulders in beautiful waves. The blue of her eyes was dazzling. Tully blue. Then he looked at the marks he had left. The indent on her shoulder, the purple bruises around her neck, and the red mark on her lip that remained from her biting it over and over again. "How dare I?" he sounded angry and Sansa regretted her courage. "I could have fucked you bloody, girl." Sansa bit her lip. He grabbed her chin and pulled her close to his face. She could smell the wine on his breath. _He still has wine?_ Her mind began racing. "And I still could. Is that what you want, little bird?"

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 **Ah, yes. So now things can start to move along. What did everyone think? Reviews are wonderful.**


	5. Chapter 5

**Author Note:**

 **Mature content ahead. You've been warned.**

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"I…Well…" Sansa stuttered, his grip firm on her chin. She swallowed and stared unblinking into his eyes. They were gray, the colour of charcoal. The colour of a dreary sky. The sky before a storm.

"Nothing to say, little bird?" he pulled her closer, his breath tickling her lips. Her lower lip threatened to tremble.

Sansa went to open her mouth but then closed it firmly and shook her head the best she could against his hand. Her hair was hanging over her shoulders, brushing against his chest as he propped himself up on one elbow. She had nothing to say. Her mind was spinning in circles. All she could think of was the Hound touching her, kissing her, marking her. Her belly felt warmer the longer he held her close. Without warning, his mouth was on hers. Her eyes closed on contact, purely from instinct. He opened his mouth and licked her lower lip with the tip of his tongue. Sansa didn't react. Her body stiffened, her heart hammered, and her palms began to sweat.

He pulled back slightly, his lips brushing hers as he said, "Open your mouth for me, little bird." Sansa complied as he pulled her by her chin back towards his waiting mouth. She parted her lips and let his tongue dance with hers. He tasted like wine and something else. Something she couldn't quite place. "That's it," he pulled back a bit and waited for her eyes to open. Sansa's eyes opened part of the way, her lips feeling swollen.

She stared at his face, an inch from hers. "Are you going to touch me again?"

The Hound watched her carefully, his face unchanging. The seriousness never left his features. It seemed that he was choosing not to answer as he sat up the rest of the way and pushed Sansa down to the ground, her back against the blankets. The blankets underneath her began bunching as he shifted to hover over her, his breeches noticeably strained. Sansa felt her heartbeat quicken, if that were possible, and her legs began to tremble as he put his hands on either side of her head and used his knee to part her legs. One of his knees rested on the ground between hers, the other next to her thigh. Sansa watched him take one of his hands and place is on her thigh over the skirt of her dress. Sansa clutched the blankets, her chest heaving as he watched his hand instead of her face. She didn't resist as he pulled her dress up, higher and higher until she felt the chill of the night on the insides of her thighs, on her core, where the aching was most strong. She remembered forgoing small clothes, the thought immediately shoved to the front of her mind. In the moment, she didn't care.

"You should tell me to stop, little bird," the Hound said gruffly as he ran his hand up her thigh, his fingers brushing against the tuft of hair between her legs.

Sansa felt like her voice went somewhere far away. She felt unable to speak. He looked up at her and she stared back at him, her eyelids feeling droopy, her body begging him to touch her. It felt like it took a lot of effort to choke out, "I don't think I can." It came out as a mumble as his fingers found her folds and ran up to the nub that caused her to shudder and let out a noise she didn't know her mouth could make.

His hand paused at the sound she made. Sansa had closed her eyes and felt him stop. She opened her eyes and watched him watching her, the same way they used to. The only difference being his hand somewhere she never wanted it to leave. His fingers moved down to her entrance, spreading wetness over her woman's place. She whimpered as his fingers moved in circles around the sensitive bud. It felt like an electric current was running through her as he gathered wetness from her opening and spread it over her center. Bliss was the only feeling she felt. Her eyes stayed shut, her body leaning into his touch. Sansa had no idea how easy it was to give in, to move without her knowledge, her hips leaving the ground to make his fingers press harder against her. She had no concept of the noises escaping her lips until she was silenced by his mouth. His tongue was greedy in her mouth, his teeth grinding against hers with need. She moaned into his open mouth as a single finger hovered at her entrance, teasing her, almost asking permission.

Sansa pulled back from his mouth and watched his face harden, his brow furrow. _He's hesitating._ Her mind was clouded, but she could register the hesitation written across his features. "Please," she muttered quietly as she stared into his eyes, her chest moving up and down quickly, her breasts straining against the tight fabric of the bodice of her dress.

He didn't answer with words, but with his finger entering her. Sansa widened her eyes as his finger slid into her most precious place. The moonlight was kissing the pale flesh of her exposed thighs as he moved his hand back and forth, his finger moving in and out, the sensation making Sansa hang her mouth open and feel like she was floating. When he added a second finger, the tightness was evident. She felt full, her body stretching to accommodate his fingers as they pumped in and out. The feeling in her stomach was becoming overwhelming. Sansa pushed her legs together while his fingers were inside of her. She wriggled underneath of him, the feeling driving her crazy.

"Open your legs, little bird," he grunted, his breathing heavy. "I want to see you." She shuddered as he sat back on his knees and used his free hand to pry her legs apart. His free hand gripped her waist roughly, his fingers digging into her skin over the fabric of her dress.

She cried out as his thumb rubbed her most sensitive area while his fingers played with her entrance and drove into her with a sudden force that made her body shift against the blankets, her head almost hitting the trunk of the tree behind her. "I…" she stopped, uncertain of what she wanted to say, so instead she moaned, closing her mouth and pressing her lips together firmly against the sound that erupted from her throat. She was seeing stars.

He hovered over her, his hand beside her head again, his other hand moving between her legs with a speed that made Sansa's core burn. He leaned in close, she felt his mouth brush hers and without knowing what to do, she took his mouth with hers. Her tongue lashed out and captured the inside of his mouth while his fingers curled inside of her. She released her grip on the blankets and wrapped her arms around the Hound's neck, pulling him closer. One of her hands went to cup the burned side of his face, but he almost pulled away. It was enough for her to go back to his neck, to avoid the scarred flesh and the near rejection. She loved the feeling of his teeth knocking into hers. The movement of their mouths and the clashing of their teeth made Sansa's jaw ache, but it was nothing compared to the feeling building in the pit of her stomach. She started to feel overwhelmed. The stars she was seeing began bursting behind her eyelids. She parted from his mouth just long enough to cry out as her limbs went numb and the feeling of complete bliss blanketed over her. His fingers moved once, then twice, pumping in her slowly until she unclenched and he slid his fingers out of her. She felt empty as her eyes opened lazily and watched him stand, the strain in his breeches more noticeable than ever.

Without a word, the Hound walked past the horses and into the forest. Sansa almost asked where he was going, but she felt so light and carefree that she didn't bother. She looked down at her dress bunched around her waist, the red hair between her legs glistening from the wetness that spilled from her. A sheen of sweat was over her entire body. After several minutes she found the strength to sit up and pull her dress down, her legs feeling wobbly and her arms feeling like pudding. She ran her hands through her hair to untangle it from her moving over the blankets with the force of his thrusts.

She reached for her water skin next to her blankets and took a long drink. She didn't know how parched she was until she began swallowing the water greedily, almost draining her skin. Sansa was slowly coming back to reality, the bliss vanishing, her body feeling heavy with exhaustion. The chill of the night was creeping back, when before she had felt almost feverish. The Hound was nowhere to be seen, and Sansa began to feel panicked. _Where did he go? Where would he have gone? Did I do something wrong?_ Just as she went to stand up he came back from between the horses. He paused when he saw her sitting up and watching him.

"Go to sleep, little bird." He went to the water and splashed it over his face before returning to their blankets. He picked up her cloak and draped it over her shivering body. Sansa had only just begun to notice how cold it was getting.

"Where did you go?" her voice felt very small, almost a squeak. She laid down and watched him touch his armor and sword, adjusting them against the trunk of the tree before he laid next to her, his cloak draped over his body.

"Don't concern yourself," he muttered.

Sansa went quiet. She laid on her side, facing him. She willed him to look at her, even just a glance would suffice. But he was either ignoring her very well, or didn't care. His eyes were closed, his breathing becoming even with sleep. Sansa felt confused. Her heart began to ache. Her body was heavy with exhaustion and the remnants of pure ecstasy, but she felt empty and almost sad. _Where did he go? Why did he leave?_ Sansa tried to stay awake, tried to watch his face in hopes of finding the answers, but her eyelids felt heavy. Before her eyes closed, she couldn't help but remember that when he laid next to her, the strain in his breeches was no longer there.

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 **The relationship between Sansa and the Hound is moving forward, but there is still some obvious tension. Reviews are lovely.**


	6. Chapter 6

**Author Note:**

 **I want to take a moment and thank everyone for the kind reviews, favourites and follows. I am so glad people are enjoying this!**

 **Here we go again with the challenge of keeping these characters as true as possible. Bitterness and tension are a given.**

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Silence. The next few days carried on as if nothing had happened, and were quieter than usual. Sansa felt like the quiet was weighing her down, even days after it began. She knew it stemmed from their shared intimacy a few nights ago. Her heart ached every time she thought of it. The Hound had an edge to him the next morning, and he had kept it every day and night since. Now they rode away from the river, only stopping when they found a small pond or puddles of water for the horses. The heat of the day was making Sansa pant. Her wool dress was heavy on her shoulders, the fabric itching and clinging to her. She had thought it was a good idea since the nights were growing colder the further North they traveled, but the sun was still persistent during the day. The Hound didn't seem to notice, never shedding his armor as they rode, never looking particularly uncomfortable. Of course his discomfort became written across his features the moment Sansa spoke to him, or he had no choice but to speak to her.

The afternoon sun began setting as they found a very small body of water, only a few paces around. The horses eagerly trotted towards it. Sansa clumsily dismounted from Windstorm while the Hound easily hopped off of Stranger, giving the horse a firm pat on the neck before taking the sleeping blankets from the saddle and tossing them on a patch of lush grass a distance away from the water. Sansa reluctantly followed after speaking soft words to Windstorm, her only real company since the Hound had touched her.

"Stay here," he muttered when she walked over. He avoided looking at her. "I'll go get something to eat. Don't-

"Do anything stupid, I know." Sansa replied. The tension between them became thicker after she spoke. Reluctantly, she looked up and met his stare. He looked angry, intrigued, and more than anything, uncomfortable. She almost apologized, it was clearly hammered into her, but she stopped herself and continued to watch him.

"You're learning," he said with what almost looked like a smirk. Sansa's heart jumped just enough for her hopes to rise. They came crashing down the second he broke eye contact and stalked off into the forest.

When he left, Sansa set out the sleeping blankets. She put them beside one another, despite her better judgement. Then she stewed in her feelings, confusion being the most prominent. In King's Landing she could have sworn there was something between them. The constant looks, the interrogation in her bed chambers, the way he had never struck her, never betrayed her trust, never misguided her. And then, of course, his decision to steal her away, to save her. She had felt reassured when he wanted to touch her. His initial rejection made her question everything. Then when he gave into her, she was certain. _He wants me and I want him_ , she had thought. Now after being tossed to the side once again, her heart ached with disappointment. She had been so sure of his desire to touch her, his need to feel her, and then it dissipated into the air. It rose up, higher and higher, until it vanished. Until the feeling was above the fiery red comet and out into the unknown.

She felt like a fool for being so uncertain. Tears ran down her cheeks as she remembered how he had touched her. It had started with anger, with a roughness that was only now beginning to fade on her pale skin. The bruises around her neck were now a pale yellow, nearly gone. The bite mark was still present, but unidentifiable to an outside eye. One indent remained, and the surrounding flesh simply looked deep red from irritation and healing. But after the initial rage, the gentleness had taken over. His hands had run over her body with gentle precision. He had known where to touch her, how to watch her, how to make her twist beneath him begging for more. She distinctly remembered his words, _Open your mouth for me, little bird. Open your legs, little bird. I want to see you._ Then she remembered him hesitating before he entered her. It was only his hands, but he had stopped and furrowed his brow. His hand had almost looked like it was shaking as he poised himself. She could have sworn he was having a great debate with himself. She had never seen the Hound hesitate or debate anything. The world was black and white to him. Sansa began to feel like a shade of gray. And she wasn't sure whether that gave her hope, or disappointed her even more.

She walked to the edge of the small pond, watching Stranger and Windstorm nuzzle each other affectionately. _Even Stranger has a soft side._ Sansa smiled for what felt like the first time in weeks, even though tears were staining her cheeks. She peered into the water at her reflection. The setting sun offered little light, but it was enough to see the grime in her hair. It looked a shade darker than usual. Her body felt like it was coated in a thick layer of oil. Neither of them had bathed since the last time they made camp near a river, and that was the night he touched her. That was days ago. Sansa wanted to wash everything away. She suddenly felt a strong urge to rub everything off of her skin. She wanted to walk naked into an open body of water and let it wash over her until she was clean. Clean of King's Landing, clean of her Father's death, clean of her missing sister, her family left behind, her brother battling for the North, her body being beaten, her mind being manipulated. She sobbed as she imagined nothing but bone being left after being cleansed. The filth she felt ran deep. The only thing that didn't make her feel filthy was his hands on her, which she knew was backwards. Shame should wash over her, but his hands, his voice, his protection of her body and soul was the only thing that brought her any sense of relief, any sense of hope for the future. _And he doesn't even want me. Did he ever? Have I just been a bargaining tool? Did his touch mean nothing?_ The questions she asked herself stung, but she couldn't deny their validity. _But remember his eyes. His eyes._ Even though she felt like she was drowning in doubt and unanswerable questions, the memory of his eyes stirred something inside of her. The way he had looked down on her, at her core, at her pale flesh. Of course being used as a bargaining tool was realistic, perhaps even expected, but Sansa was growing certain that his eyes showed something else. _I'll keep you safe._

Sansa wiped her face dry and sniffled the last of the hurt, determined to push forward. _Stop thinking about it_ , she told herself. It was no use to fester the fresh wound. She heard rustling as she stood. The Hound appeared from the trees, looking more miserable than usual. His sword was unsheathed, glistening red. He carried a large brown bag and dropped it with a heavy thud next to Stranger. A cut went from his eye to the corner of his lip on the unburnt side of his face. Sansa instinctually stepped back, suddenly feeling frightened. Even though she knew he had never laid a hand on her with the intent to cause her harm, seeing the sword dripping crimson and his eyes screaming with anger sent her back.

"What happened?" Sansa asked watching him walk to the water, tossing the sword into the grass. He knelt down and splashed his face, hissing at the water seeping into the fresh cut.

"Your brother is a stupid boy," he answered while splashing his face again and again. He stood and shook his hair, shaking the rage off. "Off to make amends with Walder Frey. Fucking Freys."

Sansa's heart leapt at the word _brother_. "What has Robb done?"

"He got married," the Hound started, "to the wrong girl. Let his cock decide. I thought he was trying to win back the North, not fuck a cunt." He laughed blackly.

Sansa watched as he walked over to his sword, taking a square of fabric stained a dark brown and began running it over the blade, wiping it clean. "He'll win," Sansa said quietly, watching him with wide eyes.

He stopped halfway down the blade and looked up at her, his gaze unwavering for the first time in days. "If he survives the wrath of that old bugger." Sansa had heard her Mother speak of Walder Frey only once. She said he was a miserable old man with more sons, daughters and grandchildren than anyone could count. He outlived generation after generation and grew fouler with each passing year. _Never trust Walder Frey,_ she had overheard her Mother say to her Father once a long time ago.

He continued working on the blade, the rag becoming noticeably wet with blood. "Who told you this?" Sansa felt as though she knew the answer. That was someone's blood he was wiping away.

He sheathed the clean sword and held the rag up to her. "Him," he grunted as he let it fall to the ground. It was heavy with blood and made a thud on a small rock.

Sansa wrinkled her nose. Her stomach threatened to flip. She kept remembering the night they escaped. The guards had dropped slowly, almost as if they were kneeling, as their bodies crumbled and oozed their life source all over the dirt. "You didn't have to kill him," Sansa said.

"What did I tell you about rats?" he began peeling off his armor, the tunic beneath soaked with sweat.

Sansa swallowed, the act of him undressing made her stomach flutter. "Dead ones don't squeak."

"You'll do good to remember that." The armor fell to the ground with a thud. He winced as he rolled the shoulder of his sword hand slowly.

Something inside of Sansa felt courageous for she spoke up and responded, "He may not have been a rat. You just enjoy hurting people, don't you?" her heart pounded as he looked at her. He then walked over and held her chin in his hand like he had many times before. This time she didn't feel frightened. This time her knees felt weak, not out of fear, but out of something different. Butterflies fluttered in her stomach and her spine felt like it was withering away. Her body suddenly became very hot. She was sure she was blushing.

"I enjoy _killing_ people, little bird." He held her chin for a heartbeat longer before letting go and walking over to their blankets and placing his sword and armor on the grass. She wasn't surprised by his answer. He had told her this before. He had warned her of all the killers that were in her life now and would be in her future. She knew he was right. It didn't make the thought of him ending lives any easier to accept. And even worse than that, it didn't make the way he made her feel any dimmer. The fire he started in her only burned brighter the more he prodded it.

The bag he had dropped near the horses had wineskins and food inside. Sansa gathered that he had stolen it from the man he killed, but she didn't dare ask. Hearing that he had killed the man once was enough. Her stomach heaved at the thought of him slicing an innocent man into pieces. So instead of asking questions or even talking, they ate the bread and moldy cheese from the bag in silence. The sun set and the moon rose over the trees. The Hound had already emptied two of the four wineskins in the bag by the time Sansa had enough of the awkward silence and slipped away from the water's edge and to their blankets. She pulled her cloak up to her chin, watching as the Hound drank from the third skin sitting by the edge of the pond. _He drank wine all the time in King's Landing. He drank more when he had to be with me._ She wasn't sure what to think. But before she could think too much, she was asleep.

 _Joffrey. His hands were on her. She couldn't push him off. Her hands were bound to the bed, the sheets tied to the posts. Her wrists were burning from trying to escape, her body exhausted from writhing on the bed. She was crying, the tears running freely from her eyes, down her cheek, some stopping and entering her mouth. The salt was overwhelming, almost overpowering. Her legs kicked and her hips raised off the mattress to try and break free. She couldn't see him but she could feel him. She knew it was Joffrey. Small hands caressed her everywhere. She felt naked but when she looked down she was fully clothed, her corset tight around her bust. Her breasts threatened to spill out, her chest moving up and down with her breathing. Her core began to ache despite the disgust she felt as his hands squeezed her breasts and ran over her ribs. She recoiled as the invisible Joffrey found her center. Without warning her dress was bunched at her waist and no small clothes stopped his hands from finding her. The feeling was both exhilarating and petrifying. She still couldn't see Joffrey, but she knew it was him. It wasn't her imagination, someone was touching her. It felt good but she kept crying and screaming. Then her mouth was gagged, a cloth stuffed past her teeth, her throat being touched by fabric causing her to gag._

 _The woods surrounded her now. She wasn't bound. She was naked and standing beneath trees taller than any castle, even taller than The Wall. They towered over her casting shadows in the moonlight. The darkness was closing in. She heard a growl. Somewhere in the distance she saw two eyes. Red eyes. Then a puff of breath came from where the mouth was hiding in the cold darkness. Gooseflesh broke out over her ivory skin. She was shaking, her teeth chattering loudly. Before she could even react the wolf was on her. It was gold, but its eyes angry and red. Its teeth sank into her breasts, her stomach, and her arms. They even grazed her woman's place, the tongue coming out and lapping at her. She screamed._

Sansa sat up so quickly that her eyes went blurry. Her heart was beating quickly, her breathing faster yet. She looked beside her and saw the blankets empty. Panicked from the dream and the feeling of her heart racing she stood and wandered to the horses. The Hound was nowhere to be seen. The pond stood alone, the water smooth and unmoving. The horses were resting, Stranger undisturbed by Sansa walking in circles. She ran to the edge of the forest but stopped when she remembered the feeling of the wolf pouncing on her. Tears threatened to spill. She was overreacting, she knew it, but her body refused to settle until she found him. She had to know he was there. She had to know he didn't leave her with the wolves, she had to latch onto reality. She wasn't in King's Landing any longer. She had to see his face to remind her she was nowhere near Joffrey.

"What frightened the little bird?" he slurred his words. She spun and saw him on their blankets, his back leaning against the trunk of a tree.

Sansa's heart began to slow, her panic began melting away. _He's here. We're far from King's Landing_. After a moment of feeling calm, anger stirred. "Where were you?"

He laughed. "Drinking, little bird." Sansa stayed where she was, suddenly hesitant. "You're right to be afraid of me." He sounded very drunk. Sansa listened carefully as he drank more from the wineskin clutched in his hand. "A drunk dog is dangerous."

Sansa swallowed and began to walk slowly back towards the blankets. "You won't hurt me." She had said the words so many times that they came without a second thought.

He watched her carefully as she sat down next to him. "No, little bird." He paused, setting the wineskin aside. "But you do make it hard sometimes."

"You want to hurt me?" Sansa bit her lip.

He laughed loudly this time. "I want to _fuck_ you, little bird. You don't make it easy for a dog like me."

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 **Sansa is confused. Sandor is bitter. These two just keep circling one another. The tension is delicious as well as annoying. I am finding it challenging to write the next batch of mature content. It has to be believable. I am also trying to tie in events happening elsewhere, so bear with me. Reviews are fabulous.**


	7. Chapter 7

**Author Note:**

 **I'm sorry for the delay in posting another chapter. Writer's block is real and it sucks. Here's hoping this chapter lives up to expectations...**

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Sansa held her breath and bit her lip harder, tasting blood. The cut on her lip was becoming permanent. She broke it open so often that it never got the chance to heal. Her heart beat a little faster the longer they looked at each other. His eyes looked heavy from the drink, his body slack against the trunk of the tree. Sansa opened her mouth to speak, but thought better of it and continued to bite down on her lip. She had nothing to say. She never had any response to him claiming his desire for her. All she could think of was all the times she had responded, or began to, and his rejection shortly after.

"Go back to sleep," he slurred. "Dream of your princes and castles." He closed the wineskin and tossed it away from the blankets.

And so she laid down, but sleep didn't come easily. She tossed and turned, listening to the Hound drink wine and occasionally slip into a light slumber filled with loud snores. He kept his distance from her that night. When he finally settled into a deep sleep, he was on the other side of his blankets, uncovered, with his hand resting on his sword. Sansa watched him for a few moments, unsure if he was actually asleep. His breathing evened, his snores grew quiet, and only then did she feel comfortable enough to sleep.

The next morning Sansa woke before the Hound, which was more than unusual. She sat up slowly, almost afraid he wasn't alive. She couldn't hear him breathing, she couldn't see him moving. She was certain he was in the same position as he was when he fell asleep earlier. Sansa crept slowly over the blankets, her heart threatening to plummet if she found him dead. _What will I do if he's dead? What would have killed him?_ She asked questions she didn't know the answers to as she crept closer. His back was to her so she stood and walked around to the front. He looked surprisingly peaceful for the Hound. She watched as his chest rose and fell. She let out a sigh of relief and knelt next to him. The burnt side of his face was on the ground, but she could still see the disfigurement that touched the corner of his mouth and the edge of his jaw. Her hand wanted to reach out, but her mind made her think twice. He didn't want her touch, her body, her affection. _But I want his._ Despite it all, Sansa still desired what she had told him the first night together. She desired him. It was apparent. If not by her body's reaction, but by the words that left her lips. Yet he refused to listen. He refused to give in.

Her hand shook as she reached out, suddenly feeling brave. Her hand wanted to touch him, feel the warmth of his body. Her heart hammered in her chest as she touched his cheek, the warmth overwhelming against her palm. Bliss ran through her fingertips and ignited a warmth in her stomach as she stroked his cheek with her thumb. She was shocked he hadn't woken yet.

One of his strong hands grabbed her wrist tightly and pulled it away in a heartbeat. "That'll do, little bird." Sansa let out a gasp, but stayed kneeling beside him as he propped himself up on his elbows. "Eat, then we go." _You have nothing more to say to me?_ Sansa frowned and snatched her arm back. She stayed kneeling on the dirt while he stood and staggered out behind one of the closer trees to make water.

Her stomach growled as she ate some more bread and salted meat she found in the dead man's bag. She almost hesitated eating his food, but it was either that or starve. Food was hard to come by in the wilderness. The Hound would occasionally be able to catch something, but more often than not it was purely luck to find apples, berries or stumble across edible greenery. She ate the bread slowly and drank water, her stomach turning at the thought of wine. All she thought of was the Hound's slurred words, the way he had looked at her when he said the word _fuck_.

After eating breakfast they mounted the horses in silence. "There's a town a day's ride away from here," the Hound said as he turned Stranger towards Windstorm.

"You learned this from the man you killed?" Sansa asked with a hint of acid in her voice.

"Aye, I killed him, little bird. Best get over it." He tugged Stranger's reins and Sansa followed close behind him.

It was well past sunset when they reached the town the Hound had spoken of. Sansa's eyes were heavy with sleep and her legs ached especially badly. They had ridden hard all day, only stopping when Sansa begged to be let down to make water in amongst the trees. The town ahead of them was glowing orange from fires roaring inside of homes and the occasional lantern hung from a post along the main road. They stopped before the road and the Hound turned to her. Sansa stopped Windstorm and watched him closely as he looked her up and down.

"Keep your hood on," he said.

Sansa obeyed, pulling the hood even further down her face, letting the only thing in her vision being the neck of her mare and the ground a foot in front of her. "Your face will give you away," she responded. Somehow she didn't hesitate. Her bravery was coming more frequently. _He won't hurt me. The worst he'll do is yell and drink._

The Hound snorted, turning Stranger to trot into the town. "Aye," he said. "Worry about yourself, girl."

Sansa followed obediently behind the Hound as they rode up the main dirt road. There didn't appear to be anyone out and about, but the chimneys of small houses and shacks they passed were billowing smoke. _Where are we? Who are these people?_ Sansa couldn't help but feel slightly panicked. For all she knew they were heading right into Lannister territory. _The Hound isn't stupid_ , she reminded herself as she rode behind him keeping her eyes down, only watching her hands on the reins and the ground her horse was trotting on. The ride seemed to last longer than she would have expected being on a main road, so her eyes began to slowly drift. Soon she was in darkness, her body being lulled into sleep by the gentle rocking of her horse.

"You're lucky you didn't fall again, little bird." The sound of the Hound's voice brought Sansa back to reality. Her horse was still, next to Stranger, and the Hound had a hand over hers on the reins, keeping her horse steady as she woke.

"I couldn't help it," she murmured through a yawn. She heard him snicker, but to her surprise it didn't sound overly mean. She went to begin the clumsy task of getting herself off of Windstorm when his hands came to rest on her waist.

She stopped and held her head up high enough to look into his eyes under the edge of her hood. "You take too long getting off this bloody beast," he said as an explanation as he roughly brought her to the ground. He certainly didn't grip her gently like before. Sansa's legs felt weak, her back stiff and her fingers blistered from clutching the leather. Her thighs felt uncomfortably warm. Sansa almost fell asleep standing up as the Hound tethered the horses in a stall together. "Stay close to me and don't say a word." Sansa was barely able to register his instructions through the fog of her sleepiness but she nodded all the same as she walked next to him into the inn.

Sansa's mind had not even comprehended that they were at an inn. The stables hadn't been a clue, neither had the muffled voices from behind the wooden walls. She had simply been trying to stay awake. Now she looked around her, at least the best she could with limited vision from the hood, and saw long tables and a roaring fire in the hearth. There were only a few bodies, and most of them well into the drink by the looks and sounds of it. With heavy eyes, Sansa tried to focus on what the Hound was saying to a small older man with an apron tied around his waist. _Is that blood on his apron?_ Sansa didn't have the energy to investigate too closely, but her heart skipped a beat. _Who are these people?_ She asked herself again.

"One room, a hot meal and two baths." The Hound sounded especially prickly towards the man. Sansa's heart began to quicken with joy at the word _bath_.

Sansa could only see the man from the chest down, but she could see him hold out a hand, palm up. "Gonna cost ya," he said with a thick accent.

The Hound didn't say a word. She heard the clink of gold coins as he pressed them into the man's waiting palm. His hand closed around them exceptionally quickly, rubbing them together. The sound they made was a scratching noise that made Sansa's fingers curl into fists at her sides. "Up the stairs, last room on the left. I'll see to those baths. Will your wife be eating in her room?" Sansa's heart stopped for a moment. _Wife_. Her stomach had a flash of heat. She didn't hate it, but she could feel the tension between them build again. A thick wall of bitterness, confusion and desire was being built between their bodies.

"She'll eat in her room, I'll eat down here. Her bath first. Mine after." His sentences had grown short and bitter. The wall was nearly built. The air was becoming uncomfortably thick.

"Aye," The man walked away and the Hound turned to Sansa, grabbing her wrist and practically dragging her behind him as he made for the stairs.

Her legs screamed as they began to climb. She slowed behind him, her wrist burning from the firm grip he had on her. "Don't tell me you can't climb some bloody stairs," he said while turning and staring down at her. Sansa couldn't see his stare because of the hood, but she could _feel_ it. The hood felt heavy, her forehead hot from the penetrating look his eyes were giving her. She was sure he was annoyed. "Come here, girl." He grunted as he lifted her into his arms for the rest of the climb. Instinctively she wrapped her arms around his neck, her body feeling limp from exhaustion and her aching muscles.

The last door on the left was a long way down the hall. She was nearly asleep by the time she heard a key enter a lock and click loudly. It was so silent down at the end of the hallway that the sound echoed off of the walls. The Hound grunted as he shifted her weight in order to open the door and take back the key. His foot kicked the door open and the smell of hay entered Sansa's nose. There was something else too. Firewood, candlewax, blankets hung outside in the wind, ale, warm bread baking in an oven. Sansa smiled as he kicked the door shut and gently placed her on the bed.

"Lock the door behind me. Only open it for the wench with the water and food." He stood in front of her, her eyes level with his waist. Tentatively, Sansa reached up and let the hood fall off of her head and rest on her shoulders. He was looking at her with those stormy eyes and her body felt suddenly awake. She noticed he had had a hood up as well. It was pooled around his shoulders. _He's trying to conceal his identity._

"You're leaving me," Sansa said tiredly. That hadn't been what she meant to say, but it was too late. And her mouth was too tired to form new words.

He rolled his eyes. "You're stuck with me, little bird." He opened the door and stood with it ajar, looking into the hallway while bringing his hood back up. She saw the glimmer of the steel at his side, the blade that was nearly half his height. "Do as I say. I'll be back when you're dreaming your pretty dreams." The door shut behind him. He didn't move until Sansa stumbled across the room and latched it shut. Only then did his footsteps grow farther and farther away.

After he left, Sansa reluctantly brought her hood back up to cover her distinctive hair. She did her best to stay awake as the serving woman knocked on the door and brought her a hot meal. The smell made her mouth water. Rabbit stew with onions and carrots. Sansa couldn't remember the last time she had a stew, a cooked meal that wasn't over an open flame in the wild. The woman came and went with pail after pail of steaming water, filling the wooden tub over by the fire. It took several trips, but Sansa ate slowly, savoring every bite. By the time she had used her bread to get the last of the juices on the side of the bowl, her tub was full and steam was wafting into the air. The girl had started a small fire in the hearth as well, making the room's air thick and warm.

"That all, miss?" the girl stood by the door waiting for Sansa to bid her leave.

Sansa looked up at her with drooping eyes. "Thank you," she said. "You may go." The girl gave a quick nod and left the room. Sansa walked over and latched the door, leaning against the solid wood for several heartbeats. She was trying so hard to gain the energy it would take for her to undress and settle into the hot water.

She walked to the tub, letting her hands submerge into the water. It was scalding, but she loved it. She unclipped her cloak and let the hood expose her hair of fire. She pulled her dress high and over her head, letting it land in a heap next to her feet. The water threatened to burn her alive as she stepped in. For a moment she just stood with her legs in the tub and the rest of her body facing the fire. Gooseflesh broke out across her skin as the heat of the water on her legs became nearly unbearable. Instead of leaving the water, she embraced it. Slowly Sansa slid down until she was submerged to her neck. The water pierced her skin, making her feel overheated and even drowsier. She slid beneath the surface, the heat of the water stinging her cheeks and making her bitten lower lip throb. As she had in the lake of ice, she worked the tangles from her hair beneath the surface. This time her fingers were not numb, they were alive with fire. She opened her eyes under the water and stared up through the surface to the wooden ceiling coloured orange from the flames in the hearth. She wanted to sleep under the surface, let it cleanse her like she had imagined before. In a way, the tiredness she felt was a relief. She was unable to think of anything else while in the water. Even when she came back up for air, she didn't feel awake or care about much of anything. She felt on the edge of a dream. Her belly was full, the dirt and grime that had built up over her skin was being washed away and she didn't have to force her thoughts elsewhere. They were already there. She didn't even think of the Hound once. Not when she convinced herself to leave the bath and dress in one of her other thin dresses. Not when she let the serving girl in again to take her empty bowl and drain and refill the tub with what looked like even hotter water, the cloak pulled over her the entire time, concealing her hair, her face, her entire identity. Sansa stood once the girl left with the last empty pail and followed her to the door, her eyes only seeing the creaking floorboards in front of her.

"I hope you and your husband have a pleasant night," the girl said with a smile. She was young, perhaps twelve years old. Freckles danced across her nose and cheeks. Her eyes were a dull blue, her teeth crooked in her mouth.

Sansa smiled without even thinking. The thoughts she was had not been thinking were suddenly there. _Husband._ "We will, thank you." The girl left with another nod and Sansa latched the door.

Sansa swayed as she walked back to the bed. Her body went limp when she was near the straw-filled mattress. Without a second thought she collapsed onto it, dreams of the Hound touching her and calling her wife playing behind her eyelids as she slept strewn across the bed, leaving no room for a dog like him. She didn't even stir when the key entered the lock and a very drunk Hound barrelled into the warm room with a bird sleeping soundly on the bed, her hair pooled around her Tully face, the blue of her eyes concealed behind closed lids. The cloak was still on her shoulders, but the hood was bunched beneath her hair. Her legs were slightly exposed. Her skin being the colour of milk made it glow in the dim light of the room. Her bare feet were curved and pointing down, almost as if she was dancing. The Hound paused and watched her chest, her breasts, move up and down with each deep breath. One of her hands rested near her cheek, the other over her stomach. In his drunken state he latched the door loudly and leaned against it. His gaze kept travelling from her sleeping form sprawled across the bed to the scalding bath by the fire. _A drunk dog is dangerous._

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 **Thoughts? Reviews are magical.**


	8. Chapter 8

**Author Note:**

 **I rewrote this chapter about five times. I found this particular sequence extremely challenging. I would love to hear your thoughts. Mature content awaits you...**

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Sansa woke to the sound of water. For a split second she thought she was still in the tub. Panic rose in her chest at the thought of having fallen asleep while sitting in the steaming water, slowly slipping beneath the surface. When her eyes opened she was looking at a dark ceiling, not water, and her body was strewn across the soft straw mattress. She couldn't remember the last time she felt so clean. Then she heard it again. A gentle splash of water, the sound of something shifting in a bath. Her face became hot at the memories stirring in her mind. _I'm at an inn with the Hound. He ordered two baths. I fell asleep._ Sansa hesitated as she wiggled her fingers and toes, allowing her body to fully awaken. The more awake she became the more the sounds of sloshing water became evident. Slowly Sansa rose to rest on her elbows, her eyes darting to the hearth. The flames were still bright, the fire crackling and emitting waves of heat. But a silhouette was in front of the flames. The Hound was sitting in the bath water, his chest exposed, his arms resting on the sides of the tub, a wineskin clutched in one of his large hands. His eyes appeared to be closed. Sansa watched as his chest rose and fell, the dark hair wet and matted against his skin. The hair on his head was wet as well, dripping steadily onto the wooden floor. The burned side of his face wasn't facing her, but she could see the jagged outline of his one cheek facing the fire. The skin rippled and uneven, the corner of his mouth rough instead of smooth. His beard glistened with water, the droplets reflecting like diamonds through the thick hair covering half of his face.

Sansa observed him for a long time, him shifting every so often, causing her to lay down quickly to avoid any eye contact, even though she was nearly certain his was sleeping. She wasn't sure she could handle the weight of his stare. She vaguely remembered being in a sleepy state earlier and not caring about what was said or where she looked. Her worries were far away when she was tired to the bone. Now she was awake and completely aware of the circumstances she found herself in. The tension in the air was returning, even if he didn't know it was there yet, she felt it. The weight of it was beginning to press on her chest. She realized how much she hated the feeling of tiptoeing around the Hound. She desired him. That much was obvious. His desire for her was there, clearly buried somewhere, only ever brought to the surface when he set aside his hesitations. His true feelings flickered through every so often. Once and a while Sansa was reminded of how he looked at her in King's Landing. She was reminded of how he spoke to her that night in the forest, his hands between her legs, his fingers working her like an instrument. Her body began to heat up at the mere thought of it. Then the memory of him walking away and the rejection came crawling back. This journey through the wilderness with him was beginning to change her attitude towards being proper. Her desire for him was at the forefront of her mind. Her desire to be a lady and be accepted was being pushed further and further back. And finally, her reactions to the Hound's treatment of her were becoming more numbed to his crudeness. She was starting to care less about his outbursts and his cruel words. She saw how he watched fire. The fear was apparent behind his eyes. It was written across his face, quite literally. He had been burned alive.

Sansa stared up at the ceiling, falling back to rest her head on one of the pillows filled with feathers that poked through the fabric. She imagined having a brother who purposely tortured her. She imagined Robb pushing her into open flames or hurting her to the point of bleeding and screaming. She imagined Bran or Rickon holding her down while she begged and pleaded. The thoughts disturbed her. _How would I be if I was kissed by fire as a child by my own brother?_ Sansa began to wonder. She could feel a deep sense of sympathy waft up to the surface of her mind. The pain and torment would have been excruciating. The healing process would have been long and humiliating. And now, everyone knew his name. Everyone knew his face. The Hound. The man kissed by fire by the Mountain, his own brother.

Water loudly splashed onto the wooden floor of their room as the Hound stood in the bath, carelessly tossing the wineskin onto the table where Sansa had eaten her dinner hours before. She glanced down through her lashes and watched his body, shadowed by the dying fire, as he pulled on his breeches and loosely tied them. She caught a quick glance at the trail of dark hair that stuck to his body from the water and went beneath his clothing, to somewhere Sansa suddenly had an urge to touch and see. His hands were unsteady as he tied his breeches and he kept swaying as if off balance. _He's drunk_ , Sansa realized as he stumbled to the table. He shook his head, sending water droplets through the air. A few rained down over Sansa, one landing high on her exposed leg. She shivered and rolled over to turn away from him. The room grew silent at her sudden movement. She could feel his stare. _He's watching me,_ Sansa thought while she concentrated on the blackness behind her eyes. She had them squeezed shut. It wasn't from fear, it was from the growing desire in her stomach. The burning sensation was coming back.

Regardless of the rejections, regardless of how confused she felt, of one thing she was certain. She wanted him. Her body responded with simply a look, her mind wandered involuntarily to impure thoughts of his hands, his body, and his husky voice. She was beginning to understand why he had always called her a little bird who did nothing but chirp. She was raised to be proper, to marry well, to have children and be a dutiful wife. Despite the torture she endured, she had remained a chirping bird, refusing to be rude or inappropriate even when she had every reason to be. She knew no other way to be. Now, she was a bird set free. Now she was flying through the sky. And to Sansa's disbelief, being free of her courtesies was growing on her. Especially when the feeling she got between her legs began to take hold of her.

The bed sank as the Hound laid down next to her, the groaning of the bed making Sansa suck in a deep breath of the hot air. She heard and felt him shift for several minutes before settling into a light slumber, his snores ripping through the air. Sansa almost laughed at how comical it sounded, but after a few minutes the amusement faded into annoyance. Sansa turned to face him and felt her breath escape her lungs.

His chest was moving up and down, not concealed by his usual tunic. His chest hair had dried and covered the scarred flesh. The trail of dark hair she had seen earlier was much closer to her now, almost within reach. She followed it with her eyes. She looked from his chest, down to his toned stomach to his belly button, then further, where his breeches rested low on his lips, the ties done sloppily. His mouth was slightly open, the snores exploding from his nose as he breathed. Despite having had poor experiences touching the Hound while he has slept, Sansa didn't hesitate to gently shove his arm in an effort to be rid of the noise. His snores immediately stopped but Sansa was also pinned to the mattress, her neck gripped by one of his strong hands, the other resting next to her head. He was hovering over her, his eyes staring into hers. His pupils were so large that the storminess of his irises was just a sliver. Sansa gasped each breath. Her hands instinctively gripped the hand pushing on her throat.

"What did I tell you about a drunk dog?" his words slurred together a bit, but his voice was menacing. Sansa actually felt a small twinge of fear mixed with an overwhelming heat that seemed to be transferring from his body to hers.

Sansa swallowed and tried to speak, but nothing came out. She simply kept staring into his eyes. He eased his grip on her throat, letting her take a deep breath. "That you're dangerous," Sansa replied, her voice steady. The fear began to fade as she held his stare. "But I know you won't hurt me."

The Hound smirked at that. His hair was still damp and dangling around his face, grazing the burned skin on his cheek. "Aye," he muttered, his eyes drooping a bit as he let go of her throat entirely. "Don't bloody wake me again." He collapsed back onto his side of the bed, the wood creaking in protest.

Sansa sat up and watched his bare back. Silver scars ran along his spine, an especially large one ran across his right shoulder. "I can't sleep with you snoring," Sansa said. "You shouldn't have drank so much." Days ago, Sansa would have regretted saying such a thing. Now she expected the anger that came spilling out of him as he sat up in the bed, swaying slightly from the drink, and looked at her.

"I have you to thank for that, girl." The words sounded so sloppy that Sansa took a moment to understand them. "Plugs your ears and sleep." He was asleep again in an instant.

The snores were quiet at first, but grew louder over the next hour. Sansa was on her back staring at the ceiling as the room began to plunge into darkness. The fire was burning out and the only other light was a small amount of moonlight spilling through a small window next to her side of the bed. Every time she closed her eyes the snoring made her eyes snap open. So, she took his advice. She plunged her fingers as deep into her ears as she could, curled onto her side and tried to sleep.

Sleep came, but with dreams that stirred Sansa's desire and her fears to the surface. The combination made for vivid and horrifying images to play behind her eyelids. Several of the dream sequences were of the Hound. His hands, rough with calluses, caressing and stroking her. An ache had begun between her legs while the dream played. Then she dreamed of a forest and running from wolves. Then the wolves turned to lions, to Lannisters. Right before she woke the dreams were bouncing back and forth. One moment she was on a lush patch of grass with the Hound between her legs and his mouth on hers, and the next a lion had her pinned to the dirty forest floor, ripping her bowels open and feasting on her while she was still alive.

The scream that came from her mouth as she woke scared her into a fit of shaking as the Hound sat up in the bed next to her. The darkness was surrounding them both, the moonlight offering very little silver light to see by. "Bloody hells, girl." The Hound didn't sound as angry as Sansa expected. She looked up at him sitting straight up, rubbing his hand over his face, the other hand gripping the sword he had laid next to the bed. She heard it thud on the floor as he dropped it.

Sansa couldn't stop shaking. Her entire body felt like she was in the frozen water from days ago. Yet her body was wet with sweat. The room was still stifling from the bath waters and the fire that died long ago. "I'm s-s-s-sorry," Sansa stammered while her teeth chattered together. A tear slipped from her eye.

The Hound turned and looked down on her. She was shocked to see his face look blank. "What scared the bird tonight?"

Sansa tried to sit up, but was pushed down by one of his hands. He had barely touched her, but it was enough to send her shaking body back down onto the mattress. "The Lannisters," Sansa responded controlling her chattering teeth this time.

"There's no Lannisters here. Just me." His voice was still slightly slurred. "I told you I'd keep you safe, little bird. Stop your shaking and sleep."

Sansa watched him carefully as her body continued to tremble. His gaze was cold, but he laid down next to her and pulled her to his body after several moments when it became apparent that Sansa was not able to stop shaking or even speak. Sansa felt the heat radiating off of him like a flame. He brought her close, curled her into the front of his body, her back molding perfectly to his chest. His arms wrapped around her waist, holding her firmly to him. Sansa shivered once, then twice and then was still. Nothing could be heard but their breathing and Sansa's heartbeat in her ears. The smell of wine entered Sansa' nose. _That's why he's holding me. He's still drunk._ His hesitation often diminished when he had been drinking. Sansa swallowed the lump forming in her throat and wriggled her body tighter into his. She felt his arms tighten around her and his breath stop for a moment. His fingers that had been clasped over her stomach now moved to her waist and gripped firmly. It almost felt like he was preparing to push her away. Sansa took one of her hands and gently place it over one resting on her hip. She felt him flinch, his breath stopped for another moment.

Without a word his hand moved beneath hers, bringing both of their hands up to her breast. It was almost as if he brought her hand with him so she could stop him. Sansa remembered how many times he asked her to make him stop. This time her heart was beating so quickly and her mind so fogged that she knew, just like before, she wasn't going to protest. The heat was warming her belly. His thumb ran over her nipple as it hardened beneath the fabric of her dress. Sansa let out a sigh as she felt his manhood press into her back, suddenly becoming firm. His breath was tickling the back of her neck as he rested his forehead on the back of her head, against her red hair. His hand moved from her chest down to the edge of her dress near her knee. Sansa's hand was still overtop of his, the desire to bring it to her core beginning to tingle her fingertips. He began to pull her dress up her leg, exposing her thigh. The calluses on his hand were rough against the soft skin of her inner thigh. Her own fingers brushed against her center as he brought their hands higher and higher.

"Little bird, you should-

"I'm not going to tell you to stop." Sansa blurted the words out in a sigh mixed with growing desire and surprising sternness. The Hound paused, his fingers in the crease of her thigh where the hair that covered her woman's place began. Her own hand was still on top of his, her knuckles almost grazing her aching nub. Sansa was surprised by her own boldness, but more than anything she was tired of walking on eggshells around the Hound. Her body was screaming for him and her conscious knew he was not to be feared. He had already had several chances to kill her, rape her, or give her away. He wanted her. Sansa was becoming more certain by the moment. The stiffness pressing into her back as his hand plunged into her folds was answer enough.

She took her hand away as his ran down to her entrance, dipping a single finger into her wet core. She gripped his forearm, her nails digging into the skin. His finger moved eagerly, not hesitating as he had before. She moaned, turning her face into the pillow trying to mask the sound. He immediately took his hand away from her woman's place and wrapped it loosely around her neck. His finger was wet and chilled the skin of her neck as he pulled her face away from the pillow.

"I want to hear you, little bird." His hand went back down to her folds and this time he took two fingers and entered her with only the slightest bit of resistance as her body adjusted to the intrusion again. She didn't hold back the noises this time. She moaned and whimpered as he rubbed her bud with his thumb and pumped into her with his fingers. She felt him stiffen even more behind her as she began to move her body in time with his.

He didn't speak as he slipped out of her and moved her body to lay on her back as his hovered over her. Sansa immediately remembered the night beneath the tree. The way he had bunched her dress up to her waist and used his fingers to make her sing. This time he looked down on her with his eyes wide and his mouth slightly open. The darkness consumed them both, but Sansa's eyes had adjusted. She could see with the help of the silver moonlight the way his chest heaved and could feel his hands curl into the mattress beside her head. _He's hesitating again_. Sansa laid still for another moment, watching him watching her until her heart began to slow and the ache began to dull. She moved quickly, for fear of making him recoil, as she put a hand on either side of his face, her hands cupping his cheeks, even the ugly scarred side of his face and sitting up to meet his mouth with hers. She felt him try to move away, her hand being somewhere he never let anyone's eyes linger, let alone their hands. But Sansa persisted. She moved her thumbs in circles on his cheeks, the burned flesh tickled her palm as she pressed her mouth eagerly to his. He was tense beneath her mouth, but once it was made clear she wasn't going to back away he opened his mouth and claimed her.

Sansa was shoved roughly down to the mattress and his body aligned with hers, pressing her into the sheet covering the straw almost painfully. She could feel his knee part her legs and his manhood press to her core, the scratchy fabric of his breeches being the only barrier between them. Their teeth rubbed together, their jaws opened and closed around one another. Their tongues danced, his tasting of wine and hers tasting of the North. His hands greedily grabbed her breasts and traveled down to her legs, pulling the fabric of her dress higher and higher until her stomach was exposed. Then he pulled it higher yet until their mouths had to part for him to roughly pull it over her head. Sansa gasped and moved her hands to her breasts, suddenly naked beneath him. He didn't speak as he pulled her hands away and brought his mouth to her right nipple. He sucked it with his mouth, his teeth grinding it roughly, her mouth hanging open with shock and pleasure. Sansa had never been touched like this, never dreamed of it. She was naked and the Hound was ravishing her. Her heart could hardly handle it. The feeling in her chest was like her lungs were going to burst.

Sansa closed her eyes and moaned as his mouth moved to her other breast, paying it close attention as well. His teeth gripped it and she cried out, her eyes opening and looking down at his face. He was smirking, the burnt corner of his mouth twitching. "I've always wondered how you taste," he said as he moved his body down so his head was between her legs. He parted her thighs and held them firmly with his hands.

Sansa had no idea what his intention was, but it never was for his tongue to run along her folds. Sansa cried out and took both of her hands and placed them on his head, unknowingly pushing him away. His reaction to that was to laugh into her center and roughly grab her wrists and pin them to the mattress as his mouth returned to her core. Sansa wriggled beneath him as his tongue lapped at her like the wolf once had in her dreams. Only this felt better. Sansa could no longer prevent the noises escaping her throat. She tugged at her wrists locked in his grip to no avail. She only wanted to grab something as her body tried to twist and turn in time with his tongue.

Without warning his mouth was no longer on her. Sansa opened her eyes and saw him standing next to the bed, the strain in his breeches more apparent than ever. His body was directly in the moonlight as he untied his breeches. "Are you sure, little bird?" he asked as he began to pull them down. Sansa just stared as his manhood stood erect in the moonlight. Her heart hammered. _Am I sure about what?_

Sansa opened her mouth only to close it just as quickly. She had no answer. He stood in the moonlight for several heartbeats, his body large and his manhood intimidating. Sansa took a deep breath. _He's waiting for me to say something,_ she realized. Sansa sat up and leaned against the wooden headboard of the bed. The wood creaked beneath her. She looked down at herself. Her one breast had a bite mark, her nipples were hard and her pubic hair was glistening with her wetness. Several days ago she would have been more shy, but his touch left her feeling foggy. Her mind was unable to feel scared, embarrassed or unsure. The only thing she felt was certain desire.

"Are you going to touch me again?" Sansa asked, the question all too familiar. Her words coming out slightly slurred. She was drunk on ecstasy.

The Hound moved over to the bed, his naked body towering over her. He kneeled in front of her on the mattress and gripped her calves. His hands could wrap around her legs easily. He pulled and Sansa slid down the headboard to the feather pillows. He pulled again and she slid further down the mattress towards him. When her legs were propped on his hips and his knees were between her legs he placed his hands on her thighs and gripped them hard, making Sansa bite her lip.

"Aye," he responded as he moved over her and took her mouth with his.

Sansa lost track of everything after that moment. Suddenly his body was on top of hers, pressing her into the mattress. He was between her legs, his manhood grazing her entrance. Sansa sucked in a breath as they continued to kiss, her mind swimming in the feeling of his erection rubbing against her and the groan he let escape into the crook of her neck as he moved against her. Sansa cupped his burnt cheek again and he didn't flinch or pause this time. Her thumb moved over the rippled surface as his tongue danced with hers. Sansa paused and almost recoiled as he took his hand from by her head and brought it down to his manhood. She pulled back from him and watched as he stroked himself once, then twice. Sansa bit her lip as he watched her and ran his hand up and down over himself between her legs. When he moved towards her, his manhood touching her entrance Sansa gasped.

"I'm not going to stop, little bird." His voice was ragged, his breathing heavy. She watched as his hand moved up and down again, his fingers grazing her as they ran over the top of his manhood. "I told you I wouldn't hurt you," he let out a growl as his fingers found her entrance and slipped in with ease, "but I'm about to." He pumped in her several times before running his hand up and down his shaft again, her wetness coating him. Sansa bit her lip and looked into his eyes. She had heard stories of losing a maidenhead, but her stories were no help now. _I'm not going to stop_. Sansa realized that she didn't want him to stop.

He positioned himself so he was right at her entrance. Sansa parted her legs as much as she could and took a shaky breath as he guided himself into her. One hand gripped the mattress next to Sansa's head, the other gripped her thigh so tightly she was certain it would bruise as he tore her open. Sansa's eyes had been closed in preparation, but now they snapped open. She bit her lip so hard that she reopened the bite mark, tasting metallic blood. Her hands found his shoulders and she dug her nails into his skin. He groaned as he slowly pushed deeper, his eyes on her face. Sansa could feel his eyes on her as she stared at the ceiling, tears threatening to spill from hers. The pain was sharp, but not completely unbearable. She could tell by the grip he had on her and the shaking of his arm that it was taking a lot of effort for him not to completely lose himself inside of her. Sansa whimpered as he continued to push forward, his hand pushing down on her leg even harder. When he was completely inside of her Sansa wasn't sure which hurt more, his hand on her thigh or the feeling of her core widening to accommodate him. Sansa looked in his eyes at that moment and he looked into hers. While staying inside of her, the Hound leaned down, releasing her leg from his grip. He aligned their bodies and took his thumb and pulled her lower lip from the grip of her teeth.

Sansa felt the initial pain begin to dull as he leaned down and captured her mouth with his. She tasted the blood from her lip on his tongue. She must have bit hard because the taste was overwhelming. He kept her mouth occupied while he shifted, pulling out of her center, causing a sharp pain. Sansa furrowed her brow and gripped his forearms as she kissed him roughly. When he was nearly out of her Sansa could think of nothing but how empty she would feel without him. She moved her hips slightly, almost asking him to come back. And of course he obliged. She began to feel numb to the pain. Her body was growing used to the Hound inside of her. Each thrust came faster than the last. He parted from her mouth and rested his forehead on hers as he moved in and out of her. Sansa let out another whimper. One of his hands found her face and cupped her cheek and the other dug into the mattress next to her head. Sansa began to cry out each time he fully immersed himself in her, and he began to grunt with each movement. Sansa discovered that his grunts became more primal the more she moved her own body with his. Once the pain had nearly vanished, Sansa moved her hips with his and held the back of his neck with one of her hands while the other curled at her side, gripping the sheets. His movements became faster and less careful. Sansa bit her lip as he thrusted into her harder than he had before. She felt like her stomach was on fire. With a primal growl from his throat he left her core, causing a sudden ache to sweep over her. And then she felt a hot pool of his seed spread across her stomach as he growled into her throat.

"Your turn, little bird," he muttered into her neck as he took the hand that had been on her cheek and began rubbing her sensitive nub between her legs.

Sansa cried out in surprise as he moved his hand quickly while resting on her body. She felt a pain from him having entered her, but after a few heartbeats the fire began to ignite in her stomach. The pain was pushed aside to make room for the feeling she had felt that night in the forest beneath the tree. He made no movement to enter her with his fingers, only to rub her almost violently. Sansa squirmed beneath him as much as she could with his body holding her down. His mouth sucked at her throat, then her breast as she felt his fingers pick up speed and rub in a circle around her most sensitive parts. When she began to moan with each breath he pressed harder and moved slower. Sansa opened her eyes and watched as he came down and rested his forehead on hers. Sansa squeezed her eyes shut as he slowed to a painfully slow pace between her legs. She breathed hard as he licked her lower lip. She opened her mouth and let him occupy her lips while he quickened his pace. The sudden change in speed was enough to send Sansa back to the edge and to throw her over it. She cried into his mouth as her release washed over her. He rubbed slowly around her for a few moments more before parting from her lips and removing his hand from her woman's place.

Sansa kept her eyes closed as she felt the mattress shift from the Hound leaving the bed. She heard the splash of the bath water and opened her eyes slightly. She saw the Hound splashing his face with the water and stumble over to the table where he had tossed his wineskin. He opened it and took a long drink. Sansa sat up, her naked body slick with sweat from both her and the Hound. He turned and watched her. His eyes were moving up and down her body. In the moment, she couldn't care less. Her eyes were heavy, her limbs limp and her core aching from pleasure and being torn open.

"Drink then sleep," he muttered as he held out the wineskin to Sansa. She clumsily took it from him and drank deeply. The wine was sour but she gulped it down regardless. When she handed it back to him he was handing her his cloak.

Sansa took the cloak from him and wrapped it around herself as she nestled down onto the pillow. "Sandor?" Sansa said his real name like a question. She wasn't sure what she wanted to ask, her eyes were so heavy, but she liked the feeling of his name on her tongue.

The Hound paused as he pulled on his breeches. He began to tie them loosely while watching her with a furrowed brow. "Sleep," he grunted as he laid on the bed next to her. Sansa didn't need much convincing. Her eyes closed and she was in darkness, her body heavy with the aftermath of pure bliss.

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 **Well, there you have it. What does everyone think? Was it believable? Reviews are delicious.**


	9. Chapter 9

**Author Note:**

 **I am so sorry for the long wait for this next chapter. I have been really struggling with how to write the relationship between these two post-intimacy. This chapter just brings us up to speed on happenings surrounding the characters. The next chapter will be more time spent with the two of them together.**

 **On another note, I got asked about writing from Sandor's POV. So here I am trying that out. Please note that it bounces back and forth between the two of them. Thank you for the suggestion and be sure to let me know what you think.**

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The Hound woke to a pounding in his head. It felt as if his eyes were throbbing and his forehead was about to split down the middle. He squeezed his eyes as tight as he could, trying to slip back into darkness where the pain had been unable to reach him. The throbbing continued, the feeling as though his head was going to erupt continued. He grunted and turned burying his face in the pillow, letting his arm stretch and reach across the mattress, only it wasn't the mattress his hand rested on. Beneath his fingers was a warm body, flesh as smooth as marble. His heart suddenly felt like a stone sitting behind his ribs.

The night before came flooding back. The images behind his eyes were clear, vivid, and completely overwhelming. He opened his eyes slowly, ignoring the throbbing, and was looking right into hair of fire. Her red hair was cascading over the feather pillow, the sight of it shocking against the dirty white of the sheets. His dark green cloak was wrapped around her, underneath her arms, open at her thighs exposing her pale skin and the stain of pink blood high between her legs. His hand was resting on her chest, right above her breasts. It moved up and down with each breath she took. He curled his fingers, feeling her collarbone beneath his fingertips, her skin soft and inviting. _Fuck._ He could feel himself stiffen and the throbbing behind his eyelids begin to fade. His focus was shifting from the pain the wine was causing to the sight and feel of the little bird he had taken the night before.

With a carefulness he didn't know he possessed, he lifted the cloak and looked at her thighs more closely, the pink between them became deeper the closer to her core his eyes ventured. The thigh he had held to restrain himself was purple with a bruise the size and shape of his hand. The tuft of hair between her legs was streaked with red. He walked his fingers over the thigh not blossoming with a fresh bruise, and watched as goose pimples sprouted along her legs. Her one hand near her face clenched into a fist and her nose scrunched, then she settled. He watched her face as he let his hand wander to her stomach, where he had spilled himself the night before. The throbbing completely left his head and traveled down to his manhood. He curled his hand into a fist and quickly took it away. _Fuck._

He sat up quickly, too quickly. The throbbing returned. His eyes felt swollen and his face hot. He looked back to the little bird once more, her eyelashes kissing her cheeks, her hair a frame of fire around her round face. Behind her closed lids was Tully blue. Before his judgement wavered, he got up and stumbled to the table and chairs and sat. The skin on the table was wine, which made his lip curl. For once he wanted water. Something to wash away the fogginess filling his head and the aching that was making his teeth grind together. And something to distract him from his wandering eyes that kept moving up and down her body. Her skin was like milk, unblemished and glowing. With a grunt he stood, threw his tunic over his head, and shoved his feet into his worn boots. He grabbed a small dagger, leaving his longsword beneath his side of the bed. With one last look he walked out of the door, slipping the key from his pocket to lock it behind him. He needed to keep his little bird safe.

* * *

Sansa woke to a pulsing inside of her. Not in her head, but in her core. Down _there._ The ache was slow and steady, persistent and somewhat sharp. As she opened her eyes and looked up at the ugly brown ceiling of wooden slats her heart quickened in her chest. She remembered the cause of the ache, the reason for the pain. _The Hound. Sandor Clegane._ She felt a heat begin to burn her chest and swarm up and coat her cheeks. Her blush was like a melted ruby oozing over her pale skin. She kept her eyes staring straight up, afraid to look next to her and see him. She almost felt embarrassed. The sun was spilling in from the small window in a small pool on the floor near the base of the tub. Sansa concentrated on the sunshine and her breathing as she summoned up the courage to look to her right. When she turned her heart did a little flutter and then dropped like a stone. Empty. The Hound had left an imprint where his body had been through the night, but otherwise, there was no sign of him. Sansa could smell a bit of his scent, the pure smell of man and sweat, but no other traces. His boots were gone, his clothes gathered. The wineskin that had been tossed onto the table was the only evidence that he had been with her at all. That and the cloak tucked beneath her arms, embracing her, and the steady ache between her legs. She shuffled to his side of the bed and peered over the edge. The glimmer of his sword was bright in the sunlight. Sansa let out the breath she didn't know she had been holding. Now she felt certain he was only gone temporarily. Her heart resumed its normal rhythm.

Sansa sat up and let her hair fall over her chest, covering her breasts as the cloak tumbled and pooled in her lap. She stretched her arms out in front of her and wiggled each finger. Even though she had lost her innocence the night before, there was little else different about her. Upon closer examination she saw the blossoming bruise on her thigh. Once again he marked her, and the shape was undoubtedly his hand. The purples and blues of the bruise looked like a painted hand on her leg, not the result of the Hound restraining himself from hurting her even more. She pulled the cloak up and looked at the tuft of hair between her legs. She wrinkled her nose and felt her heart hammer at the sight of the blood. Pink stained her inner thighs and streaks of dark red ran through her strawberry curls. She lifted her legs and shimmied back closer to the head of the bed and saw a small patch of blood. _Much less than when I had first flowered._ She shuddered at the memory of attempting to cut the evidence out of the mattress in King's Landing. The look on the handmaiden's face when she found her and Shae trying to flip the mattress would forever be imprinted in her memory. It was the day everything shifted. She became a woman on that day. And it was surrounded by monsters.

Shoving King's Landing to the back of her mind, Sansa wrapped the cloak around herself and stood. _You're not in a castle anymore. There's no lions here._ Her thigh throbbed where the bruise was forming, and her core was aching with more intensity now that she was fully awake. She craved water, but she knew the only beverage in the room was wine. And the thought of wine made her stomach turn. She had taken a drink before slipping into darkness the night before, and her stomach had flipped and protested. Her head had spun a few times before finally she was able to rest. Her body had been slick with sweat and her heart had already been hammering, but the wine had made it worse. _How does the Hound drink so much wine?_

A knock at the door made Sansa jump. She wrapped the cloak tightly around herself and put the hood up, pulling it far over her face. When she reached the door another knock came, a bit louder than the one before. Sansa put her hand on the latch then thought better. _Don't be a stupid little bird._ The Hound was becoming the voice inside of her head. "Yes?" Sansa said, against the wooden door.

"We've been told you would like another bath, miss," a girl behind the door said. Sansa pictured the small girl from the evening before. Freckles had been dusted across her young face, and her eyes had been a sad, dull blue.

Sansa unlatched the door and opened it a crack. Her hood blocked her view, but she could see the rough woolen dress of the young girl. The end of her braids went to her stomach, the dirty blonde of her hair wrapped tightly and shiny with grime. "That would be lovely, thank you." Sansa pulled the cloak tighter around her body, completely concealing herself. She walked quickly back to the bed and sat, still as a stone while the young girl emptied the tub and refilled it with steaming water. An older woman helped the young girl and brought Sansa some breakfast of porridge with honey and some water. Her mouth watered at the sight. She couldn't resist to wait, so she ate quietly at the table while the tub was being filled. One hand kept her cloak secured while the other fed her the sweet breakfast.

"Your husband said to tell you he will be back by dinner," the girl said at the door with the last empty pail in her young hands. Sansa tilted her head high enough to see the girl's face. "He also said not to worry." Sansa could have laughed. She smiled and nodded, watching the girl turn and leave. _He said not to worry_. Sansa couldn't picture the Hound saying such words. She pushed the empty bowl away and stood, latching the door. She listened to the footsteps of the girl disappear down the stairs. When silence came, Sansa turned to the tub and didn't hesitate to walk over.

The cloak floated to the floor with a thud as she stepped into the bath. The water felt hotter than it had the night before. Her skin screamed in protest as she sucked in a breath and sat. The ache between her legs turned to a stinging sensation as the water touched her everywhere possible. She imagined the blood washing away, slipping into the water and rising in red swirls to the surface. _I'm no longer an innocent woman. And I don't mind._ Sansa took a deep breath and plunged beneath the surface, her thoughts replaying the night before. With a smile beneath the water she remembered how she had stretched and welcomed the Hound into her body. For those moments they had been one being. Her fear and uncertainty met with his harshness and hate and became something new. It was as if their deepest fears and all the unspoken words between them were exchanged through their intimacy. Sansa felt as if she knew the Hound now. _He fears fire, my delicate body, and losing me._ Of the last one she grew more certain the longer she stayed beneath the surface. The way he had watched her, held her, and touched her. _I'm his. He's mine._ Sansa opened her eyes and let the water sting her eyes.

* * *

Sandor had inquired the night before about the deal happening at the Twins to anyone who had been drunk enough to spill their knowledge. Several men had told him the same story. The Young Wolf had made a terrible mistake and was trying to make amends with Walder Frey. And every man thought the same thing Sandor did. It was a fatal mistake. The more he drank and the more he listened the more he felt something close to sympathy for the little bird he left upstairs. Her family was falling to ruins all around her and she was unable to stop it. She barely knew anything of it, in fact. Murmurs of a wedding at the Twins stirred through the room as the night got darker and the men got drunker. When Sandor asked if it was Robb to be wed, he got smirks. When he asked if it was Catelyn, he got laughs. No one answered.

He had kept his hood up and refused to say his name, but he knew these people had caught a glimpse of his face. And none had said a word. _How is it that no one here knows me?_ He had asked himself the night before. But as he had gazed around the room it became apparent that the fear was not at the large man drinking an impressive amount of wine with a hideous face, it was with the war surrounding this small town. They had remained untouched, for the time being. It was only a matter of time before their gates would come crashing down and the village torn apart. For once in his life, he was not recognized. For once he was free of his title. He wasn't a dog here.

Now he was wandering down the main dirt road of the town, passing shops being packed up. Houses being made to look abandoned. _They're preparing for war. They're preparing for men to come and take it all away._ He got several stares as he continued down until he reached a farmer's house. He had heard talk of an old dying man whose son was seeking help. But everyone at the inn had laughed while talking of it. Sandor saw the opportunity and took it. He walked up to the fence and saw several cattle, pigs and goats. _A wealthy man._ Before Sandor could walk to the house a young man came over to him, dressed in filthy wool pants and a scratchy tunic and boots with holes.

"And who are you, ser?" the man asked, his hands on his hips. His messy brown hair covered his ears and fell into his eyes. The green of them was shocking. They looked like fresh moss.

Sandor snorted. "I'm not a fucking knight," he answered turning to the boy. "I hear your old man's dying." The Hound was not known for his way with words. The boy looked stung but nodded.

"Aye," the boy answered while looking down at his boots. "What of it?"

"Rumor is that he was to bring food to the Twins for a wedding." Sandor gestured to the livestock.

The boy nodded. "I sent word to the Twins that he would be unable. I got no response."

Sandor walked to the boy and looked down at him. The Hound was nearly two heads taller. "The only response you'll get for slighting Walder Frey is a sword in the belly." The boy looked up and studied the burnt side of his face. It always tingled when eyes stared at it for too long. "I'll butcher the pigs and take them."

The boy shrugged. "I can't offer you anything for the work."

"But you can," the Hound replied. "Silence." The boy raised his eyebrows and looked confused. "Never speak a word of this to anyone. Or I'll gut you while you're still alive." A glimpse of fear swam over the boy's face before disappearing. Then another look lingered. Something much worse than fear. _He knows who I am._

"You have my word," the boy said quietly. "Not a word will be spoken to anyone."

And with that the boy left Sandor to slaughter the animals while he undoubtedly returned to his dying Father's bedside. The Hound took no joy in killing the beasts. It was different from a human. Watching the light leave the eyes of a creature made no difference to him. The light of a human, the soul of an enemy, now that was worth something to him. It tasted finer than any wine. When Sandor finished the task of killing and butchering the animals, he used the old man's wagon to pack the meat and prepare it for the journey. By the time he was ready to leave the sun was setting. His body was slick with sweat and blood. He was certain he smelled foul. The work had been grim and unsatisfying, but Sandor looked up at the house as he covered the wagon and sneered. He had one more satisfying task to complete before he left. The voice in his head that sounded like the little bird almost made him stop and turn back. But as soon as he entered the home of the young boy and his dying Father, there was no turning back. _He knows who I am._ Words are just words. Death is certain.

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 **Thoughts? I hope this helped tie in happenings outside of just these two characters. Reviews are amazing.**


	10. Chapter 10

**Author Note:**

 **More mature content awaits you. I am trying very hard to keep things believable between these two. Be sure to tell me if I accomplished that.**

* * *

After her morning bath Sansa found herself wondering how to fill her day. She couldn't deny the fact that at the back of her mind lingered the fear that the Hound _had_ left. Even though he left his beloved sword. And even though he left his little bird. Sansa allowed herself a few moments of fear while she dressed and sloppily braided her hair down her back. _Enough._ She wiped away a loose tear and looked out the small window next to the bed. The sun was high in the sky now. She could see a majority of the town through the pane of glass. Her eyes wandered over the villagers, the few that were out in the open, scurrying around with armfuls of food and ushering children back to their dwellings. _War is nearly here._ Sansa knew that her brother was fighting battles all around them. The Hound probably thought she was blind to it, but she listened in King's Landing. Despite being told to not speak, they never told her not to listen. And that's why she looked at the villagers and knew they were not hurrying because they desired to, but because they had to. War was coming for them. Men were marching to destroy this town. It was amazing it was still left untouched. She knew the Hound would probably have them leave in the night or early morning. She had to admit that she was even surprised they had stayed this long. _It's a clean room, bath water, and small sense of safety._

Sansa smoothed her dress of lavender over her stomach. The ache between her legs was still present, but had subsided while she had soaked in the water. Her walk was a bit awkward, her thigh being bruised and her core being torn, but it almost brought a smile to her face. _I'm free._ The thought kept pestering her. It wasn't simply losing her maidenhead or running from King's Landing. It wasn't just about journeying home. It was about being free. After years of being pushed into the dirt, pressed under Joffrey and Cersei's thumbs, to be without a weight holding her down was exhilarating. To be touched in a way that wasn't with intent to harm or be vicious was something she never thought she would experience. To be touched in a way that she desired, that she invited, was unheard of in her years at King's Landing. Sansa smiled out the window, the sun kissing her face, spreading a warmth over her skin that felt like her blush when the Hound looked at her a certain way.

Once again a knock startled Sansa. This time she was certain it was the small girl coming to collect her empty breakfast bowl and dispose of the water. "Yes?" Sansa called as she walked to the door.

"Miss, I've come to tidy," the young girl answered. Sansa wrapped her cloak around her shoulders and pulled the hood up, covering her hair. She unlatched the door and stepped back as the girl entered.

The girl gathered the empty bowl and spoon and began to leave the room when Sansa stood and said, "I'm sorry, but I was wondering if there may be somewhere I could wash our clothes? I'm afraid we have traveled a long way and there are few inns along the road." Sansa smiled, even though she wasn't certain the girl saw with how far down the hood went on her face.

"Of course! Grab your items and I will bring you down to the wash basin." Sansa could hear the smile. As the girl emptied the tub Sansa gathered up their few articles of clothing and shoved them into the bag she had brought from King's Landing. When the girl had her back turned Sansa quickly ripped the sheet on the bed off and shoved it into the bag. The blood was bright red and painfully noticeable.

Sansa slung the bag over her shoulder and made to follow the girl out of the room, but she hesitated at the threshold. The voice in her head that sounded like Sandor was yelling. _Don't do anything stupid!_ Sansa swallowed the lump forming in her throat. It was early afternoon. He wouldn't be back until evening. She had plenty of time to quietly wash their clothes and come back upstairs. With a nagging feeling in the back of her mind trying to pull her back to the room, she stepped out and shut the door behind her, following the young girl down the stairs. The stairs were a bit challenging, but once they reached the bottom Sansa followed the young girl to the back of the inn where the kitchen was. The inn was oddly quiet. Not a soul sat next to the hearth or came through the front door. The kitchen was equally deserted. Sansa's view was obstructed by her hood, so she could really only see the young girl's shoes, but she heard no noise. And when she brought her head up awkwardly, no one was around.

"Where is everyone?" Sansa asked as they went to a small room off of the kitchen. A large tub was filled to the brim with soapy water. Sansa dipped a finger in and widened her eyes at how cold it was.

"War is coming," the girl answered. "Be quick down here. There is a line out by the stables where you can hang your items to dry. Use this door here." And with that the girl left, hurrying out of the room and beginning to make a racket in the kitchen.

 _Be quick down here._ Sansa's heart had begun beating rapidly as soon as she had left the room. As soon as she had broken the unspoken rules the Hound had made. _Don't do anything stupid._ Sansa was certain she wasn't being foolish, but she couldn't shake the guilt in her chest as she dumped their clothing and the sheet into the tub. She scrubbed quickly, looking over her shoulder at the floor every few moments. The hood was making her face hot as she wrung the clothing out and hastily shoved them in her bag and shuffled out the back door.

The fresh air was alarming at first. She hadn't realized how stuffy the inn's air was until she was breathing in fresh grass and the hay from the nearby stables. She hung the clothes on a makeshift line that ran from the inn to the wall of the stables. The breeze took hold of the sheet and threatened to take it away. The spot where she had bled was now a dull pink, barely noticeable. Once she finished and watched the clothing blow in the breeze, she went to the stables while holding her hood secure from the blowing wind.

The smell of hay was overwhelming and made Sansa sneeze, startling Stranger and Windstorm. Both horses whinnied and then settled when Sansa shushed them with soft words. Stranger kept a weary distance as Sansa did from him. But Windstorm welcomed the affection. She pet the horse and ran her fingers through the mane. The sun began to set in the sky by the time Sansa felt content leaving the horses with their hay and water and Windstorm's freshly brushed coat. With a smile and kind farewell Sansa walked out into the evening. She gathered the clothing as quickly as she could, folding it sloppily into the bag. As she put the last item, the large blanket, into the bag and went to stand she felt a presence behind her. Before she could speak or turn she was being held from behind and something cold was touching her neck. _A blade._

"I-

"I told you not to do anything stupid," his voice was menacing. The blade pressed against her throat hard enough that she felt a quick pinch and trickle of blood travel down her throat and between her breasts. "Inside, little bird." The knife disappeared quickly. Sansa watched the Hound walk in front of her, heading towards the front of the inn. She stared for a moment longer before grabbing the bag and hurrying behind him through the front doors and to one of the tables. "Sit." He gestured to the seat across from him at the rough table. Sansa's hood prevented her from seeing anyone, but she could hear distant voices in the room.

Sansa reached up to the hood and pushed it back to rest where her hair began. The Hound reached across the table and grabbed her wrist. "I'm sick of staring at feet and darkness." Sansa pulled away from his grip and adjusted the hood to conceal her hair but expose her face.

The Hound snorted. Sansa watched as he slapped two gold coins on the table and make eye contact with a woman roaming the room with cups and plates. She nodded and went back to the kitchen. Sandor licked his thumb and reached across the table and pushed his thumb down the front of her dress to rest between her breasts. His face stayed blank as he ran his wet thumb up her chest and neck to where the cut stung on her neck. The blood collected on the edge of his thumb, a perfect large drop. He brought it to his mouth and sucked it while watching her. "Someone cut the little bird."

Sansa tried her best to not watch the way his mouth surrounded the pad of his thumb and licked her blood off of it. As much as she wanted to break the eye contact they had made, she couldn't. His eyes were stripping her of her clothing. A blush crept up her neck. The cut stung from his saliva. "Where were you?" The woman brought over two mugs of ale, took the coin and scurried back to the kitchen where a delicious smell was wafting out.

Sansa noticed that his hair was wet, his clothing clinging to him and stained red. "Killing pigs," he answered into his flagon. Sansa scrunched her nose as she took a small sip and nearly began coughing her lungs out. "One more night then we leave for the Twins in the morning."

"Is that where Robb and Mother are?" Sansa took a longer swig of the beverage and nearly choked. She managed to swallow her distaste at the thought of seeing part of her family again.

The woman brought two bowls of stew. The Hound took a large spoonful. "Aye," he said while chewing. "Eat," he said through carrots and onions in a broth of rabbit.

Sansa did as she was told and ate. She was much slower than Sandor. He was finished his ale and the stew before she had finished her bowl of stew. He sat as patiently as he could and flagged down the woman wandering the room as more men and women shuffled in. It was mostly men staggering through the rickety front entrance. Sansa kept her eyes down as he asked for a bath in their room. The girl nodded and walked away quickly. His voice did not leave room for any kind questions or fancy words. It was as if everyone who spoke with the Hound knew he didn't take any pleasure in talk. However, Sansa noticed that he made no attempt to hide his face this time. _Do they not know who he is?_ _Or does he simply no longer care?_ Sansa took the last spoonful of stew and savored it the best she could. In a way she dreaded going back out in the wild. She was certain he would keep her safe, just as he had this whole time, but a new fear began eating away at her. She sipped her ale while a wave of anxiety fluttered behind her ribs. _What will Mother say? What will Robb think? Will Sandor leave?_ The Hound was drinking his third cup of ale while Sansa unknowingly stared at his face. Each sip of her ale was simply instinctual to quench her thirst as she studied the lines of his face. His thick beard covered his jaw, but stopped awkwardly on the burnt side of his face. Flecks of gray scattered through the hair. The burn was terrible. Sansa had known that all along, but he was too busy watching the rest of the room to care where her eyes settled. Now she could truly see the texture. She remembered the feeling on her fingers, how rough and almost calloused it felt. Looking at it made her feel sad. The skin looked like hardened candlewax that had once been dripping off of his bones.

"That'll do," he growled looking right into her eyes. "I told you, I'm used to stares." He chugged the rest of his ale down and slammed the cup down. Sansa jumped and blushed purely from embarrassment. "Finished yet?"

Sansa nodded and let him pull her hood back down to conceal most of her face as they went to the stairs just as the older woman that had been serving tables came down with an empty pail. "It's all ready, ser." _Mistake,_ Sansa thought gripping the bag with their clean clothes a little tighter, preparing for his rude retort.

The Hound snorted and took Sansa's hand, roughly pulling her up the stairs. "Fucking knights," he murmured only loud enough for Sansa to hear as they walked briskly down to the end of the hall to their room. The door was left ajar. As soon as they stepped in the Hound slammed it shut behind them and latched it.

"What were you like before?" Sansa asked as she unclipped the cloak and tossed it on the bare bed. Her heart hammered at the silence he answered her with. Her bravery was indeed more prominent, but she often regretted it when she saw the rage in his eyes. So instead of watching him while he chose whether or not to respond, she took the blanket from the bag and made the bed. The Hound stood by the bath, his shirt already stripped and in a heap at his feet.

"I was a child," he answered pulling his breeches down with little hesitation and stepping into the bath, sitting in the steaming water. Some water sloshed over the edge, slapping the floor. "Enough of your questions." Sansa swallowed as she tucked the last edge of the blanket beneath the straw. The woman had started a roaring fire in the hearth. The room was heavy with heat. A bead of sweat trickled down Sansa's back beneath the dress she wore.

The Hound sat with his eyes closed in the bath. Sansa's heart began beating rapidly watching his chest rise and fall, the hair clinging to his chest. Her feet moved with a mind of their own and she was next to the bath. He opened his eyes and looked up at her. The sun had almost completely set, but the fire glowed across his scarred skin. Sansa took a deep breath and brought her trembling fingers up to the front of her gown. The laces were simple enough to untie, but she paused not out of hesitation, but because the Hound was staring at her so strangely. They simply looked at one another. Sansa had fingers halfway through the laces, her heart pounding behind her ribs. She was certain they could both hear it.

"Why?" he asked it quietly, his hand reached out of the bath and rested over her stomach. The fabric immediately absorbed the water, chilling her stomach. "You should want a prince, a knight even. Fucking knights," he muttered as he let one finger travel down her stomach, over her woman's place, and then drop down to the water. He turned away and looked into the flames. "I'm a dog, little bird."

Sansa had no answer. Instead she continued the laces and let the dress drop down in a puddle at her feet. She had foregone small clothes since he had first touched her. She was desperate to taste freedom in any way she could. He must have heard the dress drop, but he kept his eyes on the flames. Sansa counted several breaths, and almost began to feel uncertain of her actions. _Does he regret last night? Does he no longer want me?_ Sansa felt her lower lip tremble. She bit down on it, hard enough to open the cut again. The blood filled her mouth, tasting like a golden coin. She knelt and began to bring her dress back up over her shoulders when a hand quickly stopped her. He held her wrist firmly, the fingers easily wrapped all the way around.

"I shouldn't have touched you, I shouldn't have taken you." He looked into her eyes. He almost looked sad.

"But you did."

"Aye, and it was a mi-

"Don't you dare," Sansa snapped. A heat rose inside of her that was no longer arousal. A rage spiked inside. "For years I was a prisoner in King's Landing. I have seen princes, kings, and knights. I know what I want and it isn't any of those men. Lannister or not, they're all the same." Sandor watched her with curiosity. His eyes burned her skin. He let go of her wrist and let the dress fall. Her naked body stood before him. "You never just wanted to take me home." The words spilled out before she could weigh the consequences of saying such words to a man filled with rage. "I chose to go with you for the same reason you saved me."

The Hound tugged at her wrist. "In," he said. Sansa lifted her leg and stepped into the bath, the rage on her skin melting away. "That rage I have only seen one other time," he said as Sansa stood with her feet on either side of his thighs, hovering above him. He reached up and rested his hands on her backside. Her eyes fluttered as she sunk into the water, legs curled behind her, sitting on his thighs. Water lapped at the edges of the tub, spilling onto the floor. Some even splattered into the close flames causing a hissing noise to erupt in the room.

His hands cupped her breasts. Sansa felt heavy. Her core was aching, not just with a primal need, but with soreness. "When?" she sighed as she rubbed her pink nipples with his thumbs. His hands disappeared beneath the water and rested on her lower back, pulling her closer to him. She felt his manhood stiff against the tuft of hair between her legs and rest against her lower stomach. He began planting kisses along her shoulders and collarbone.

"Not now," he answered while sucking at her throat.

When his lips found hers Sansa tasted her own blood mingled on his tongue that tasted of stew, ale and his own unique flavor. _No wine_ , Sansa thought with a smirk as their tongues danced. The water felt even hotter the longer their lips lingered together. Her hands curled on his chest. She could feel his heart beating steadily beneath her palm. "I thought you had left me today," Sansa muttered as he pulled away and rubbed her against himself.

"Never," he grunted while gently lifting her. His manhood rested at her entrance, the ache more noticeable than ever.

Sansa took a shaky breath and looked into the lust-filled eyes of the Hound. He gripped her hip with one hand and brought his other down to where they would connect. He rubbed her sensitive nub and made her moan. Sansa closed her eyes and remembered the fire that had traveled with alarming speed through her limbs. It had even ignited a fire behind her eyelids. She swore she saw the comet streaking through the sky behind her closed eyes. His fingers left and instead she only felt the graze of them as he moved his hand up and down himself beneath her. Sansa's legs began to shake from holding herself up on her knees. He was poised beneath her, ready to take her again. A tear slipped from Sansa's eye as he plunged a finger into her. The ache was hard to ignore. She hissed and bit her lip. The taste of blood was becoming far too familiar.

"Who hurt the little bird?" it sounded like a mock as he pumped into her again, his other hand sinking into the skin above her hip. "Tell me," he growled into her throat as he added a second finger. Sansa's legs shook as he stretched her.

She gripped his back and dug her nails into his already scarred flesh. His burnt skin was pressed against her shoulder, his good ear next to her lips. "It was you," she breathed. He removed his fingers and held her hips while guiding her down onto his manhood.

Sansa cried out as he slowly began to fill her. A sting traveled from her center out to her fingers and toes. He didn't pause, but pulled her down so he was completely inside of her. A tear trickled down her cheek. She rested her forehead against his shoulder as he groaned. She stifled another cry when she knew he was completely immersed in her. Sandor kissed her neck as his fingers trailed up and down her spine. They were light as feathers above the surface of the water, then beneath it felt like the tickle of fish swimming by. Sansa opened her eyes and pulled back, resting her forehead against his. She sucked in a breath while bringing her hands up to grip his shoulders. Their lips met. The kiss was sloppy. Sansa was concentrating on not moving her hips and keeping her body as still as possible. The longer she stayed still, the number she became to the sting. The ache dissipated as they kissed. The Hound made no attempt to move her. His hands rested lightly on her hips, his thumbs making small circles over her protruding hip bones.

Sansa made small movements at first. But even the smallest sway of her hips made the Hound growl in his throat. At the time Sansa was unsure if he wasn't moving to help ease her discomfort or simply to prevent himself from going too quickly. The pain withered away after several minutes of small movements. But Sansa grew suddenly extremely reluctant to move on her own. "Like this, little bird," he muttered while kissing her lips. His hands gripped her hips a bit harder and gently moved her body up along his manhood and then back down. A shiver ran up Sansa's spine. The ache came on strong, but she bit her lip and pressed her forehead harder against his. His hands left her hips and she moved by herself. Up and then down. A little faster each time.

The Hound began to groan each time she came to rest down on his lap, his manhood completely filling her. Each time she came down, her sensitive nub would rub against the base of him and send a shiver up her spine. As her pace quickened, the louder his groans became. His hands dug into her and he pulled back from her face. He gripped her chin between his fingers and stared into her drowsy eyes. Her eyelids were feeling heavy, the feeling of pure bliss swiftly traveling from her center to rest in her chest. The Hound began moving with her, the water steadily flowing over the edges of the bath. He released her chin and moved his hand below the water to where they were connected. His fingers moved in circles around her causing a moan to escape her lips. Sansa moved up and down faster, the feeling of being full and his hands sending currents through her arms and legs was bringing her to the edge. Only a moment later she saw the fire behind her eyes and heard the fire crackling and the water splashing loudly. It filled her ears and her mouth hung open as she whimpered and came down from her ecstasy.

The Hound growled and suddenly Sansa was empty and Sandor pulled her close so his manhood was spilling onto her stomach beneath the water. His teeth ground together and his forehead came to rest on her shoulder. Sansa opened her eyes and watched his back heave. The silver scars moved with his skin as he breathed in and out. The water felt cold compared to the heat radiating off of their bodies. The water was down several inches and splattered across the floor. Sansa's body felt limp as she rested onto Sandor's chest. Her breasts pressed into him, her mouth open and breathing into the crook of his neck. His arms wrapped around her and simply held her, cradled her.

After a few moments of only the fire and their breathing, Sansa shifted. Her legs felt stiff, her core was painful. She tried to stand but her legs shook. The Hound pulled her to his chest, held her securely with his arms and stood. The water lowered even more as he stepped out and brought her to the bed. He lowered her onto the sheet, letting her head rest on the pillow. Her red hair spilled around her shoulders. Her Tully eyes threatened to close. Sandor lazily pulled up his breeches, leaving them untied and draped his cloak over Sansa. She felt the bed creak as he joined her on the bed. His arm draped across her stomach. Sansa turned her head and looked at the Hound. His eyes were closed, his breathing becoming even. His scars were on full display, the burned side of his face exposed. Sansa smiled, watching him drift into sleep, finally not caring about her looking at his scars. Sansa took one of her hands from beneath the cloak and rested it on his large a calloused one resting on her stomach. Only then did she let her eyes close. _Tomorrow we leave this place. Then what?_ Sleep took her before she could even attempt to conjure up an answer.

* * *

 **I only have a couple more chapters I want to write. Tell me your thoughts. Was it still believable? Reviews are superb.**


	11. Chapter 11

**Author Note:**

 **To say this is long overdue is an understatement. But here we go. I think this is it.**

* * *

They left for the Twins the following morning, as planned. When Sansa woke she saw the Hound gathering their things, fully dressed with his longsword dangling from his hip. Her heart fluttered as she sat up, the cloak barely covering her as her hair fell haphazardly over her shoulders. The ache between her legs was pronounced, but it made her smile. Never had she felt more wanted. Never had she felt more safe.

"Best get moving," he said as he took a long swig from the wineskin on the table.

Sansa nodded and stood. Her legs were shaky and sore. She dropped the cloak and began pulling a dress over her head. She could feel him watching her. The shuffling on the other side of the room had quieted, and she swore she could hear a sharp intake of breath. As soon as the dress was on and she was smoothing it over her body, he moved to the door. Sansa didn't need to be told to put on the cloak and pull the hood up to cover her fiery hair. It was natural by this point. She tugged until she could only see the floor and a few paces in front of her.

They grabbed a quick meal of porridge with honey and a very tart fruit. Sansa eagerly ate. Her chest was swelling with the memories of the inn, and also with the anticipation of seeing her family. And then there was the familiar drop in her chest when she wondered what was going to happen to Sandor, the Hound, when they reached the Twins. _Surely he won't leave me? Surely Mother and Robb will thank him and ask him to join their cause?_ As Sansa finished her breakfast, she looked up and watched the Hound's face as he finished his ale and stood. He was unreadable, as always. And even though Sansa's bravery swelled a bit more each day, she had learned which questions she could ask and what ones were better left alone.

The horses were attached to a wagon filled with butchered meat. The Hound didn't hesitate to climb onto the bench and grab the reins. Sansa hesitated and wrinkled her nose at the smell, but also at the finality of it all. This was it. They were going to the Twins. This was the last step in their journey, and something about it felt very final. The Hound extended his hand and Sansa took it without a second thought. His strength pulled her up next to him with ease. She adjusted the hood of her cloak and then they were off. The horses were swift, the cargo smelled and Sansa gripped her dress tightly. Her knuckles turned white as she contemplated what the future held. The Red Keep was behind her and the Twins was ahead.

The Twins was turning out to be a longer journey than either of them had expected. As the afternoon began to morph into dusk Sansa felt her chest tighten. _What if we miss them?_ She hadn't let go of her dress the entire journey. The horses protested when they passed a small body of water. They stopped only for a few moments. Long enough for Sansa to make water behind a tree and the horses to get their fill of refreshment and nibble on some grass. After that short stop it didn't take long for the towers of the Twins to be seen over the treetops as the sun completely set. They were surrounded by an aura of orange. Fire. The flames of the camps set out around the grounds. The wedding.

"Don't say a word," the Hound said as they began their approach through tents filled with men drinking and roasting food over open flames. "We're bloody late," he muttered.

Sansa held her breath as they approached the exterior gate. Men laughing and shouting was a constant buzz in the air behind them. "Who goes there?" a man with the unfortunate duty of guarding the gates approached their wagon. Stranger whinnied and stomped his foot. The Hound growled and the horse settled.

"Delivery for the feast," he said with an attempted different accent. In the dark his scars were hard to see. They were facing Sansa, not the man.

The man looked at his companion behind him and smirked. "You're awfully late. I can't let you in."

Sansa grabbed the Hound's arm purely out of reflex. _We have to be let inside. Mother and Robb are in there._ The Hound shrugged her hand away. It stung, but she understood. "Where can I put this bloody meat then?" the Hound was beginning to sound frustrated. Sansa looked up at the identical towers. The windows glowed. _Where are they?_

The man shrugged. "You'll have to wait until morning, sir." The man sneered as the Hound's eyes flashed the colour of rage. Red.

Sansa gripped his arm again and didn't let him shake it off. Just as he reached for his sword and cleared his throat to speak a sound penetrated the camp. Music. The sound was sad, mournful and exceptionally familiar. Sansa widened her eyes as she looked up at the tower's windows. The sound was traveling through the camp sending a wave of silence throughout the men. Sansa looked behind her. Men who had been drinking just moments before were suddenly looking around them. And after what felt like an eternity of the melancholy sound, violence erupted. It began in the towers. Screams erupted from the stone walls and pierced the camp. And then it was suddenly surrounding them. The guards smirked and drew their swords. But the Hound was faster. He cut the horses free. Stranger immediately when for the guard and trampled over him before disappearing into the trees several paces away. Windstorm followed her new friend swiftly.

"No!" Sansa screamed as she stood from the wagon's bench and looked towards the towers. The Hound sliced the second guard and then pulled her from the wagon. "Let go of me! Mother! Robb!" Sansa screamed at the top of her lungs.

The Hound growled. He practically dragged her to the line of trees. "You need to run, little bird," he said. "There's Lannisters here."

Sansa shook her head and felt the familiar feeling of agony that accompanies losing something you hold dear. "But Mother…" her voice trailed off as she looked at one of the towers that belonged to the Twins. "Robb…" again her voice was drowned out by screams. Horses ran by them as the Hound tugged her behind a large tree.

"Dead," he answered harshly. "Don't look," he said as he pulled her head to his chest.

But of course she opened her eyes and wriggled free from his grasp in time to see a body on the back of a horse emerging from the gates their wagon stood in front of. But instead of the head of a man, the head of a direwolf was attached with spears. _Robb_. Men from the Twins and those wearing Lannister red were laughing and yelling while following Robb and his dead direwolf. They held swords above their heads and slashed down anyone who was not laughing or cheering with them. Sansa suddenly felt flush and turned to vomit. The Hound pulled her back to the trees just in time for her to see a group of men arrive from the same path they had taken to the gates of the Twins. One of them was the largest man Sansa had ever seen. Although, she seemed to recall having seen him once before. Her heart pounded in her chest as she rested against the Hound behind the tree.

"Your brother," Sansa murmured. "We have to leave!" Sansa practically sobbed as she stood and looked back at the Hound.

In the time it had taken her to turn the Mountain was looking at her. She was certain. He had a helm covering his face, but she could feel eyes on her face. The feeling was that of being burned alive. _Is this what it felt like?_ Sansa began to back away, her eyes darting to the Hound standing, his longsword drawn. The fury in his eyes was plain. It was so simple. He was ready to kill his brother. Sansa cried out to him. Her voice faltered and cracked. The Mountain turned from her to the man suddenly between them. The Hound adjusted is grip on his sword.

"Run, Sansa!" he cried as he charged at his brother. Their swords clashed. The sound was deafening.

Sansa was rooted to the spot. She watched as the Hound swung his great sword and made contact with the Mountain's helm. The two parted and backed away from one another. In a quick motion, the Mountain removed his helm and threw it behind him, into the chaos. They stared at one another as Sansa breathed in deeply through her nose. The smell of burning flesh was turning her stomach again. And then there was the thought of where her Mother was. If the young wolf was dead, where was his Mother?

"I had heard you ran off with the Stark girl," the Mountain spoke like he looked. His voice was booming. It traveled to Sansa's ears easily. The sound was like thunder.

The Hound did not reply. Instead he dared to look behind him and made eye contact with Sansa. "Run, Sansa! I'll find you!" he turned back just in time for a swing from his own brother. Their swords clashed, sparks ignited. They were holding their swords together, the other trying to push closer.

The Mountain leaned in closely to the Hound and said loud enough for Sansa to hear, "Not if I find her first. All I have to do is get through you, brother." He laughed as the Hound backed away, retreating with his sword. He rolled his sword shoulder and cried out as he charged at the man who towered over him.

That was all Sansa needed to hear. With the Hound's words bouncing around in her mind she turned and ran. Screams followed her into the forest. The sound of men burning brought back memories of the Red Keep. Instead of splashing water, it was the lick of flames and sounds of anguish that filled the night air. The sounds traveled faster than her feet could carry her. They surrounded her as she ran. Hooves, men shouting and the occasional crackle of flame erupted on all sides of the woods. The feeling of panic encompassed her as she ran through the trees. _I'll find you. Run! Run, Sansa!_ As she ran, she thought of the way her real name had urgently escaped his mouth. She remembered the way he had cried out while charging at his brother.

The trees were so thick that Sansa's dress caught on small branches and her feet caught on stones. The rocks were sharp, her shoes slipped from her feet as she scurried through the bush. The moonlight was filtering through the treetops, but it only provided a small amount of silver light that barely brightened her surroundings. The fire behind her sent an orange glow into the trees. The screams echoed behind her. Sansa cried as she felt the strings of her heart ache and stretch painfully with each scream behind her. But she kept running. _I am the North._

The sound of hooves could be heard from every direction, but she knew it couldn't be near her. She ran without turning around. And it let a sob escape her lips as a branch cracked against her cheek. She tasted the blood instantly. Hot and coppery. It filled her mouth, and traveled with purpose down her flushed cheek. To avoid the same sensation she held her arms out in front of her, hoping that any coming branches would instead hit her arms and hands as opposed to her face. Each time a branch scraped along her arm the feeling was nothing compared to the hurt in her chest as her feet carried her further from the Twins. _I am a wolf._

Sansa cried harder as her feet began to throb from the uneven terrain and numerous sharp rocks and fallen branches. Her determination kept her moving until she attempted to jump over a fallen tree. The silver moonlight only showed her the large trunk just in time for her legs to come up beneath her. She tried to propel herself over the trunk, but ended up scraping her legs and falling onto her hands and knees on the other side. Pain shot up her wrists, into her forearms and then hit her shoulders with force. Only then did Sansa crumble. _I am weak_.

Sobs propelled through her chest. The sound was only drowned out by the cries of animal and human alike. The flames sounded like waves roaring against a shore. The sound of metal clashing together rang in her ears. _I thought I ran much further._ She sat up and looked over the fallen tree trunk and saw the glow of orange. The smoke was rising into the sky, the outline of the Twins glowed just like the walls of the Red Keep. Sansa's eyes widened as she watched the distant silhouettes of men fighting, then the wretched noise of them dying. The grunting, the screaming, the begging. Her heart pounded in her ears, the sound of blood rushing through her body.

Sansa took a deep breath. _I am the North. I am a wolf._ She attempted to stand but fell immediately to her knees. "Where are you…" she muttered to her empty surroundings.

Again she tried to stand. Her knees buckled. Blood trickled down her legs. The blood felt cool in the night air. And with much effort, she jogged further into the trees. The sounds around her began to dissipate as she traveled further into the forest. The thick trees blocking out the sounds. She found a stream with an oak tree that towered into the sky. A sob worked its way from her chest to be emitted from her mouth. It was a pitiful sound. But she looked down at herself in the silver moonlight and saw dirt beneath her fingernails, slashes across her arms from the numerous branches and saw blood steadily running down her pale legs. Her dress was ripped everywhere, barely covering her legs, exposing her thighs. The wind picked up and swirled her hair behind her. Sansa leaned against the trunk of the great oak and wept. Slowly she slid her body down until she felt the cool dirt beneath her. _Am I the only one left?_ She begged for an answer as tears ran down her cheeks. The tears stung the significant gash in her cheek. She closed her eyes and saw the rage and agony in the Hound's eyes as he told her to run. He had called her by her real name. He had said he would find her. She wept harder, clutching her middle and pulling her aching legs up underneath her chin.

It felt like a long time had passed when Sansa heard a sound. She lifted her head and paused. The sound was close. And it sound liked hooves. Sansa's heart began to beat rapidly in her chest. The horse was getting closer and all Sansa could think was that she hoped it was the Hound and not the Mountain. She heard the horse slow and the quick trots as it came to a stop. Then came the dismount of the rider. The sound was loud in her ears. He must have been right behind the tree. She heard the sound of metal, the sound of a sword be sheathed. She held her breath as footsteps went all around, not coming past the tree she clutched to.

Sansa stood as she watched the horse walk over to the creek in front of her. _Stranger_. She recognized him immediately. He paused and watched her, then turned his attention to the water. _It must be him._ But Sansa was terrified. Stranger was particular about who approached him, but did he know the Mountain? Did he let someone else ride him? Sansa let out a shaky breath, louder than she had wanted to and heard the crack of a twig uncomfortably close. The man searching paused. She inhaled sharply and waited. Waited for anything.

And then out of the dark she heard, "Little bird?"

* * *

 **I can't thank everyone enough for coming along on this journey with me. Be sure to leave your final thoughts. Do I need to make some changes? Once again, reviews are fantastic.**


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